Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks
by Alisha Ashton
Summary: (Part 3 of Clear the Area) When a powerful relic sends Dean's age bouncing around between adorable little kid and hormone-drenched teen, hilarity, angst, and sexual tension ensues. Written so that you can put yourself in the role of the OFC. Set end of S8-ish. Slightly AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker.
1. The BIG Problem of Little Dean

You're seated in your favorite chair in the war room. Your legs are tucked beneath you as you read a journal from the 1920s. The entry you're currently engrossed in is a hunter's account of a werewolf attack on a small rural town. It's an interesting read - makes you feel connected to the hunters who came before you.

Sam and Dean are on their way back from a pick up. Some powerful relic turned up in a city about four hours' drive away, and a friend of Garth's is handing it over for safe-keeping.

You could have tagged along, but it's not a hunt and the boys do need their alone time. You're not here to pull a Yoko on the Brothers Winchester. When shit is dangerous, you're right there with them. But for errands, research, and some parts of the investigations, you prefer to hang back and hold down the fort.

The boys need to bicker and joke around and torment one another mercilessly. They need to argue over whether Batman is more badass than Superman and agree that Aquaman was the lamest superhero of all time. They need to listen to the familiar rumble of the Impala and those same damned cassettes over and over (and _over_).

You've made a point of impacting their tight-knit relationship as little as possible. It's a pivotal part of both of them. Can't have a Dean without a Sammy. Can't have a Sammy without a Dean.

You're just about halfway through the journal when you hear the main entry door open with a bang. You jump to your feet, reaching for your gun, but stop when you see only Sam over the railing and nothing chasing him. Before you can relax, his voice rings out.

"We've got a big problem!" Sam calls in mild panic as he rushes down the stairs.

It's then that you notice what he's carrying in his arms.

A..._boy_.

Pre-teen, close-cropped hair, clothes entirely too large for his small frame. Not obviously hurt in any way. Completely unconscious. His arm is hanging limply away from his body, swaying with each hurried step Sam takes.

You rush to the table, clearing aside books and watching as Sam rests the boy atop of it. You quickly get to work assessing him, searching for injury. You find nothing.

"What happened?" You ask as you check his breathing and pulse.

"He...um..." Sam tries, staring down at the kid as if he's seeing a ghost. "He touched that rock."

"What?" You ask, not following. "What rock? You mean the relic you guys were picking up? How'd he even get his hands on it? I thought you and Dean were driving straight back here with that thing."

"Yeah...we were..." Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But it slid out of the bag when we were getting out of the car. It only brushed against Dean's hand for a second."

"So where is he?" You ask.

"Who?" Sam asks in confusion.

"_Dean_." You answer in frustration.

Sam meets your gaze and slowly points at the boy. "He's right in front of you."

Your brow furrows as you look down at the kid. Your brain seems to be having a hard time comprehending what Sam just said.

But then you start to see it. The subtle resemblance. The shape of his lips. The far-more prevalent dusting of freckles across his familiar nose and cheeks. The same clothes that Dean had been wearing when he left that morning.

"Holy shit..." You whisper, your eyes widening as it finally hits you.

"Agreed," Sam breathes with a hand clutching his mouth anxiously.

"Has he...? Is he...?"

"I don't know."

"I mean... Is he Dean... like _now_-Dean, just stuck in a 12 year old body?" You demand shrilly.

"I don't know," Sam repeats. "He hasn't woken up yet."

"Okay... Okay..." You say, trying to stay calm as you run your hands through your hair nervously. "What do we know about that rock?"

"Not much, other than the fact that it was bad news. I'd say it's safe to assume it extends life by rewinding the clock."

"We need to hit the books," you breath, staring down at Dean worriedly.

"And babysit." Sam adds.

**-SPN-**

An hour later, you're sitting on the floor in Dean's room surrounded by books. Sam is seated across from you as you both frantically skim pages. Kevin and Castiel are out in the library searching for every text they can find that could possibly help.

Dean hasn't moved a muscle. He's still out cold, but at least he's breathing steadily.

Despite the fact that Dean rarely spends any time in his room these days, you put him in his own bed. It was just too creepy to consider putting the sleeping, 12-year-old version of your boyfriend onto the same mattress you had sex with him on that morning.

You're just about to toss the latest book aside when you see him. You freeze as your eyes meet.

"Uh...Sam?" You say quietly.

"Hmm?" Sam asks without looking up.

"Dean's awake."

Sam looks up at you and frowns at the concern in your voice.

"_Easy_, Dean," you urge, holding your hands up and keeping your eyes locked on the boy currently standing behind Sam.

Realization sweeps over Sam's features. He holds up his own hands and slowly turns his head to find the boy version of his brother with a shotgun pointed directly at his back.

Neither of you had thought to remove the weapons. And doesn't it just figure that there'd be a loaded shotgun within reach of Dean's bed? You have no idea if it's regular shells or salt rounds, but you don't want to find out the hard way.

Dean's eyes are wide, his breathing heavy from panic as he stares at you both fearfully.

"Where the hell am I? Where's Sammy?" He demands, trying to sound intimidating despite his obvious terror.

"Just take it easy. Nobody's gonna hurt you here," you soothe with a reassuring smile.

"_**Save it, lady!**_" He snaps, startling you with his ferocity given his current age. "I don't know what you two freaks are or how you grabbed us out of our room, but right now, I don't care. The only thing I want you to tell me is: Where's. My. _Brother?_" He grinds out furiously and renews his grip on the gun. "If either one of you hurt him, I swear to God, I will shoot you both."

"Well, this is gonna be easy to explain," you mutter over to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam says softly and turns toward him with his hands still held up in surrender. "I know this is going to be hard to believe...but I'm right here. _I'm_ Sam."

Dean pumps the shotgun with far too much ease for a little kid.

"Shut up! No you're not!" He screams and turns his furious eyes back to you. "No games! Tell me where my little brother is!"

Kevin chooses that exact, _incredibly_ inopportune moment to enter the room, loaded down with books. His eyes widen at the scene playing out before him.

Dean moves to take aim at the new face.

You take the opening and tackle Dean to the ground, managing to get the gun free of his grasp before he can fire off a round.

"Get off of me, you crazy bitch!" He screams as he fights you off.

"_Ow!_ Damn it!" You yell as he catches you in the jaw with a furious little fist. For a 12 year old, he packs a hell of a punch.

"_Sam! Sammy! Answer me!_" Dean calls frantically, kicking and punching you with everything he has.

"Jesus _Christ!_ Just hold _still_ for a second!" You plead as you try to restrain him.

"**That's ENOUGH, Dean!**" Sam bellows with so much force, it actually hurts your eardrums.

You both freeze mid-struggle. Judging by Dean's instant reaction to the words and the undeniably authoritative tone Sam just used, you're pretty sure you just heard a sampling of John Winchester from beyond the grave.

"Now," Sam says in a calm, no-nonsense tone. "You are going to stand the hell up, settle the hell down, and keep your mouth shut for a minute while I explain this. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" Sam demands. You can see in his eyes that it's hard for him to do this. To channel their father, even if it is for his brother's own good.

"Yes...sir..." Dean answers, eyeing Sam in uncertainty as he climbs to his feet. He glances down at you, looking unsure of himself before reaching down and offering you a hand up.

You consider it a for a second before taking his hand and climbing to your feet.

"Thank you," you offer quietly.

He eyes you distrustingly in reply before looking back up at Sam.

"Like I said, I know it's gonna be hard to believe this," Sam reiterates, "But I am your brother. I am Sam. You touched some kind of spelled stone and it turned you into a kid again."

"I'm not a kid," Dean grinds out defiantly. "And how am I supposed to believe you? Can you prove it?"

Sam frowns thoughtfully. "How old do you think we are?"

"I'm 12," Dean answers. "Sammy's 8."

"That thing with the shtriga happen yet?" Sam asks purposefully.

The color drains from Dean's face, making his freckles stand out all the more.

"How do you know about that?" He whispers.

"Because you told me. I didn't even remember what happened, but you were still carrying the guilt over it when we ran into that thing... Man, I guess it was about 8 years ago, now."

Dean's eyes widen. "We hunted it?"

Sam nods.

"Did I...kill it?" Dean asks hopefully.

"You did," Sam answers with a smile. He pauses, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting his brother's gaze and adding, "You killed the thing that took Mom, too."

A broad spectrum of emotions pass over Dean's features. Surprise, fear, grief, and finally...

The corner of his mouth lifts in a boyish version of his typical cocky, smart-ass smirk. He squares his shoulders proudly.

"Of course, I did," he says with false bravado.

Sam shakes his head and looks over at you. "Before you ask, yes. He's been like this for as long as I can remember."

"Why am I not surprised?" You laugh.

"So... You're really Sammy?" Dean asks, approaching and peering up at him appraisingly.

"I'm really 'Sammy'," he confirms. "But it's just Sam now," he adds as a version of his brother straight out of his memories circles him.

"Nah, you probably complain about it, but you'll always be Sammy to me. Don't matter how old we get," Dean assures knowingly, all the while taking in Sam's appearance in amazement. "Geez, what the heck did I _feed_ you?" He finally asks incredulously.

Sam laughs heartily at that.

"You're even bigger than Dad!" Dean declares in astonishment. "You mean to tell me I'm gonna get that huge?"

"Well... _close_...but not quite," Sam says with a smile.

Dean's jaw drops.

"No freaking way!" He cries. "You're taller than _me_?"

"Yup," Sam confirms triumphantly.

"Crap," Dean breathes and sags in abject big-brotherly disappointment. "This is what I get for always giving you bigger portions of everything," he grumbles to himself.

Sam's face instantly falls.

You can see that it just hit him...

It just _really_ hit him that Dean - not as the tough big brother from his memories, but as this too-skinny little boy - regularly went without just to make sure that he was fed and cared for. This _child_ had been his parent and protector, had always taken care of him first in everything. Looking down at him now, through the eyes of an adult, the cruelty of that unfairly placed responsibility is sinking in.

Dean glances up at his brother and, upon seeing the wounded look on Sam's face, his eyes widen guilty. With the ease of someone used to hiding their own feelings for the sake of others, he plasters on a smirk and says, "Bet I can kick your ass, though."

You cover your mouth with your hand and glance over at Sam to gauge his reaction. You're floored that this behavior had already been firmly engrained in Dean at such a young age, and that - even with Sam now towering over him and about 20 years his senior - he's still trying to protect him.

Sam winces in response to his brother's casual deflection, his eyes glittering tearfully in the low light.

"This where we live?" Dean wonders, eager to change the subject as he looks around himself curiously.

"Yeah," Sam answers hoarsely before clearing his throat. As always, he allows his brother the defenses he's put in place to protect a secretly tender heart.

"Sure ain't no motel room," Dean comments in awe, walking over and taking a seat on the mattress, giving it an experimental bounce. "Bed's freaking awesome."

"This is actually your room," Sam says.

"Sweet!" Dean says, nodding approvingly as he climbs back up onto his feet.

He walks around slowly, checking the place out. He runs his fingers over the handles of a few weapons. When he spots the time-worn photograph of him and his Mom together, he picks it up and smiles, running his thumb tenderly over her image.

After a moment, he frowns and looks over his shoulder at Sam.

"Where's Dad?"

* * *

**A/N**: Feedback = Love. :) Thoughts so far?


	2. Smaller Still

"You're telling me that geek who took pictures of me with his phone earlier is a prophet? And you...? You're an _angel_?" Dean asks, yet again, in disbelief.

"I am," Castiel confirms for the fourth time.

The three of you are seated in the war room at the table. Dishes have accumulated from Dean's lunch and numerous snacks (apparently his appetite is still adult-sized), but you're in no rush to clean up. You have your chin propped up on your palm, smiling as you watch Dean try to understand his relationship with Cas.

"Like a legitimate, honest to God, halo and wings angel? And you just...follow me around?" Dean asks incredulously.

"I don't know that I would...call it..._that_...per say," Cas fumbles uncomfortably.

"He totally follows you around," you confirm playfully, peering around Cas to Dean. You pause, getting a thoughtful expression on your face for theatrical effect before adding, "Kind of like a stalker-ish ex, actually."

Seeing the disapproving look Castiel shoots your way, Dean snickers. You grin and wink over at him.

But Cas is not amused. He leans closer to you, speaking quietly as if Dean won't be able to hear him.

"I rescued him from the very depths of Hell and have fought by his side most days since. He may need my help at some point while he is trapped in this...lesser form. He should understand that we share a profound bond," he insists.

"Okay, Castiel," you sigh. "Don't get your wings in a bunch. It's called teasing. He might be littler, but he's still Dean. He's fluent in snark."

"Did he just say he pulled me out of Hell? I was in _HELL_?" Dean asks in astonishment.

After shooting Cas a discrete look of warning, silently declaring the topic of Hell off-limits, you turn your attention back to Dean.

"And all you got was a stupid t-shirt," you joke.

Dean laughs in amazement, sinking back into his seat and marveling at this latest bit of information.

"But yeah, Castiel has a point," you grant. "Dean, you should know that Cas is pretty much your personal angel. He's saved all of our lives more times than I can even count. If anything ever happens to you, pray to him. He'll always hear you," you assure.

Dean's eyes widen as he looks over at the angel in awe.

"_Holy_..." he breathes.

"Correct," Castiel agrees, stone-faced as usual.

Sam peeks his head in the door then, nodding to you in greeting.

"Everything good in here?" He calls, though you're not sure which of you he's checking on.

"We're good," you and Dean answer in unison.

"Great," Sam says distractedly before turning his impatient eyes on the angel. "Cas? Get out here and help with these translations, would you? There are at least five dead languages in these books that I know damned well you can read."

Castiel nods before standing from the table and heading to the door, sliding out past Sam.

"Any luck so far?" You ask hopefully.

Sam frowns and shakes his head. "Nothing yet. But we've still got a LOT of books to go through. We'll find it," he assures with more certainty than you know he's actually feeling.

You nod and force a smile.

"Guess it's just us for a while," you sigh to Dean as you watch Sam leave. "You want to watch TV or something? Maybe get some more food?"

"No. It's... I'm okay," he answers quietly.

Your brow furrows and you turn toward him curiously at the suddenly self-conscious tone of his voice.

"What's up?" You ask automatically.

"What do you mean?" He says in feigned innocence, even as he shifts guiltily in his seat.

You narrow your eyes on him suspiciously, taking in his change in posture.

"Something's bugging you," you declare knowingly. "Whatever it is, out with it."

"Geez," he grumbles, frowning deeply at your ability to read him. With a nervous expression, he reaches into the inside pocket of his entirely-too-large jacket. "I, uh... I found this in my room earlier," he offers before reluctantly holding something out for you.

You take it curiously and smile when you get a look at the strip of small pictures. It's you and Dean from one of those photo booths on a very, very rare date. _Weeellll_, it was actually a hunt, but it had involved a lot of legwork in an old movie theater. The two of you took the opportunity for some brief couple time.

The third and fourth pictures in the set feature a deep kiss. What the photos can't convey is that Dean had been trying (unsuccessfully) to talk you into a quickie, right there in the booth, with only a short curtain between you and the other theater patrons.

You laugh at the memory and shake your head.

His 12 year old self clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the present.

"So... Are me and you...?" He asks nervously. "Are we married?"

You chuckle. "I don't think you're the marrying type," you answer as you ruffle his hair. "But yeah, we're together and we're serious. Don't really need rings to make things official in a hunter's world. It's already 'till death do us part.' You know? Time's too precious to get hung up on ceremony."

He nods and averts his eyes.

After a moment, he asks quietly, "Are we...happy?"

You smile sympathetically, knowing that at this point in his life, he must have had a hard time imagining happiness that didn't involve looking out for Sam or taking orders from his Dad.

"We're _extremely_ happy," you assure with a wide, genuine smile.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you turn it on to display your background image. It's a selfie-photo Dean took of the two of you lying in the grass on a stakeout. Strangely enough, the picture jogs another memory of him trying to get a quickie... But that time, he'd actually talked you into it. His victorious grin is captured in the picture.

"See? Isn't that the face of a happy guy?" You ask as you slide the phone over in front of him.

He grins down at the image of his older self.

"Looks like I just got my way," he laughs.

"Yeah, you generally do," you assure with a wink.

"We got any kids?" He asks hopefully as he slides your phone back.

You nearly choke.

"Uh, no," you answer awkwardly.

"But... we're gonna _someday_, right?" He presses.

"Umm..." _How the heck are you supposed to answer this one_? "I don't think that's really in the cards."

He frowns at you disapprovingly, apparently disliking that answer.

"Why not?" He asks, his tone heavy with disappointment.

"It, uh... Well, we...ummm..." you fumble. "We've never talked about it, to be honest. But I don't know how either one of us would feel about bringing a kid into this life. It's too dangerous and-"

"But **_I_** grew up in this life," he reminds. "And all I ever needed was my family." He looks around the bunker. "Besides, this place seems safe. A heck of a lot more secure than any of the motel rooms Sammy and I stayed in. Plus, we have a live-in _angel_ for security."

You sit dumbfounded. You have no idea how to respond to your 12 year old boyfriend's arguments in favor of having children.

"When this gets fixed, and I'm back to the right age, we should at least talk about it," he insists. "I always thought I'd have at least two kids when I grow up."

"I, um..." you try, before finally giving up and nodding. "All right. Okay, Dean. We'll talk about it after this gets fixed."

You somehow doubt that. How the hell would you even broach that subject? '_Hey, Dean. Your inner child wants to be my baby-Daddy._'

And how would that even work? You'd be - what? - barefoot, pregnant, and melting down silver to make ammunition? Breastfeeding while researching how to kill the latest evil monster Dean had to fight without you? Sure, he'd have Sam to watch his back, like always, but you'd feel useless.

And you'd be terrified all. the. time. Worrying about what you'd do if Dean didn't come home... How you'd raise his children without him...

Not that the notion of having Dean's children isn't heartwarming and breathtaking. I mean, seriously - imagining his tearful reaction to hearing that you're pregnant? Seeing that reaction tenfold when he holds them for the first time? Watching him playing with them?

_Guh_. Right in the feels.

Oblivious to the doubts, worries, and thoughts he's just planted in your head, 12 year old Dean smiles happily. He's apparently content enough with your answer to let the subject drop.

"So, what am I like?" He asks eagerly.

"Huh?" You ask, your brow creasing as his question drags you back from your daydreams.

"Tell me what kind of guy I grow up to be," he presses.

You roll your eyes and let out a long sigh of feigned exhaustion. "Well... You're funny as hell. And a major smart ass."

He grins. "That much hasn't changed then."

"I see that," you laugh. "Hmm... What else? You're smarter than you like to let on and you're, hands down, the best hunter out there. You're also the bravest, most loyal man I've ever met in my life."

His freckled cheeks blush a dark red, but you know he's eating this up. And it is the truth, after all.

"What else?" He asks.

"You always take care of your family and friends. Do whatever it takes to keep them safe. And you're a charmer," you whistle and fan yourself to emphasize your point. "Man, _dear_, what a charmer. Before we got together, you could get any girl you wanted with just a smirk and a few flirty words."

That doesn't get the amused reaction you're fishing for. Instead, Dean frowns severely.

"But I don't do that _anymore_, right?" He asks worriedly. "I mean, I'm not like...a jerk to you, am I?"

You laugh and shake your head. "Definitely not a jerk," you assure. "You'd never disrespect me."

"Good," he sighs in relief. "And you'd probably have no problem kicking my ass if I did, right?" He asks purposefully, and you know he's trying to find out what kind of woman he ended up with.

"I'd totally kick your ass," you agree. "But if you ever did something that hurt me, you'd probably just let me pummel you. Even grown up, you don't want to be a jerk."

He nods approvingly. "So, you're a hunter, too?"

"I am."

"Got any weapons on you right now?"

"Yup."

"Can I see?"

You give a mock scowl before sliding the bowie knife from your boot and gun from your waist band, setting both on the table.

"_Cool_," he breathes in awe. He reaches out and slides your knife over to him, pulling it from its sheath and checking it out. "Have I told you I'm in love with you? Because I definitely am."

You crack up and nod. "You've told me."

"Ever killed a werewolf?" He asks with wide eyes.

"A few."

"Done a salt and burn?"

"So many, I've lost count."

"You a good shot?"

"Just as good as you."

"Did you know my Dad?"

You frown at that and shake your head. "I'm sorry to say I never had the privilege... or the headache of knowing him."

Dean smiles. "Well, I must have told you enough about him then." He looks you over appraisingly for a moment and nods. "Dad would have really liked you," he assures.

You're not sure why that statement warms your heart, but it does.

"Thank you," you say softly.

"Just telling you the truth. Don't need to thank me," he says matter-of-factly.

He leans forward, sliding the knife back across the table to you, but stops suddenly. His body goes rigid.

He looks up at you slowly, a deeply troubled expression on his face.

"Dean? What's the matter?" You ask worriedly.

"_Get...Sammy_..." he pleads before clutching his stomach and doubling over in pain.

"Sam!" You call over your shoulder and pull Dean onto your lap as he cries out. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He just keeps screaming, trying to curl up into a tight ball.

"_Saaammmm_! Get in here! Something's wrong!" You scream franticallly.

You're caught off guard when a blinding flash of light erupts from Dean.

He stills in your arms as you try to clear your vision, but its a long moment before you can see anything.

You feel him squirm in your arms, and even before you can focus on him, you know something's off. He's too light. Too small.

"Mommy?" A tiny voice asks shakily.

Your vision clears and you find yourself looking down into the eyes of a very confused, very frightened, 4 year old Dean.

* * *

**A/N: **Thoughts? Comments? Love it? Hate it? Anything make you LOL? Can you see/hear it as you read? Let me know! I adore hearing from readers!


	3. The Prince and the Stone

You are officially freaking the F out right now.

Sam and Kevin are currently staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the shaggy, blonde haired little boy in your arms. Despite his shock, Kevin still pulls his cell phone out and takes a picture of the latest version of Dean to add to his collection, as if he needs evidence of what he's witnessing.

"What do you mean you don't know what happened?" You demand of Castiel frantically, but _quietly_. You're holding Dean close, instinctively swaying from side to side in an effort to calm him.

Dean is shaking like a leaf and hanging onto you for dear life. He's hiding from the world with his face nuzzled beneath your chin. His little hands are clutching your hair like it's a security blanket. Seems like no matter his age, your hair is a big hit.

"You guys were all in the room with the damned thing!" You remind in a whispered-shout, trying to minimize the trauma to your (heavy emphasis on _boy_) boyfriend. "Did someone touch it? Did somebody spill a _beer_ on it, for Christ's sake? Why would it just go off again?"

"It is possible that the stone's power is released in stages," Castiel postulates distractedly while squinting at Dean in open curiosity. "It is highly unlikely that such a powerful relic was created with the purpose of restoring only a fraction of a mortal life. It is more probable that it was designed to sustain an ancient being - one who would need to recover vast amounts of youth in order to achieve near-immortality. There is likely another stone meant to be used in conjunction with the one we possess. The other would allow its user to retain their memories as they regress physically..."

Blah, blah, and more not-saving-Dean BLAH. You're ready to burst by the time Cas finishes.

"_HEY!_" You whisper-shout again, waiting for all of the (adult-sized) men to snap out of it and meet your eyes. "We need to do something _right freaking now_ to stop that thing, do you hear me? If it goes off again, we're gonna LOSE him. He's only got 4 years left! He can't _go_ _back_ any farther!"

They all shift as realization hits and the reality of the situation sinks in.

"We could ward him against its effects," Sam suggests quickly, already crossing the room in three large strides to reach the book-laden shelves. "Then put it in a protective circle and-"

"-and layer on every kind of containment spell we can think of!" Kevin finishes while rushing from the room to retrieve God only knows what.

"If we can prevent these surges of power from reaching Dean, it will allow us the time needed to find a way to destroy it and reverse its effects," Castiel continues as he moves to help Sam.

It's as if they're all thinking the same things at the same time, just taking turns voicing them.

You watch them hurry about for a moment before turning your attention to the mop of blonde hair beneath your chin. You settle down into one of the armchairs, knowing that your part in this for the moment is looking after him.

"You're all right, Dean. Everything's gonna be okay, babe," you soothe and wince at the appropriateness of your usual term of endearment for him. "We're gonna get you back to...where you belong...very soon."

You just realized that this isn't like 12 year old Dean. He's not going to understand what happened if you explain it. You don't even know what kind of life he thinks he's been pulled away from.

You frown thoughtfully as you recall what you know of Dean's childhood. With growing dread, you shift him in your arms.

"Dean...? You called me Mommy when you first got here... Were you with her before you woke up in my lap?"

He trembles and shakes his head.

You close your eyes.

"Did your Mommy go away?" You ask softly.

He burrows deeper into your embrace, clinging to you desperately as he nods.

_Shit_.

"How long ago did Mommy leave?"

No answer.

You think you remember Sam telling you that - according to John Winchester's journal - Dean didn't talk for a few months after their Mom died. Damn. Her death is still fresh for him.

"It's okay, babe," you whisper, holding him a little tighter and kissing the top of his head, trying to provide as much comfort with the contact as you possibly can. "You don't have to talk to me. I understand. We can sit like this as long as you want, all right? And if you get hungry or anything, you can just kick me _really hard _in the shin. Deal?"

He stops trembling. You could swear you catch a hint of a muffled giggle before he nods in reply.

You smile warmly in response and snuggle closer to him.

**-SPN-**

Three hours later, Dean's finally out cold. He's nestled on your bed now, surrounded by pillows and blankets, and sprawling in much the same way he does as an adult when sleeping alone. He has a belly full of fresh-from-the-bakery blueberry pie (which Cas made an emergency trip to pick up) and is currently smiling contentedly in his sleep.

You can't help but smile fondly as you sit on the edge of the bed watching him.

It took you almost two hours of singing and cuddling and soothing to get him to pass out. You told him long bedtime stories about the adventures of a brave King named Dean. For the final story, you told him how the King was transformed into a little Prince by a magic stone. You told him that the Queen missed her King very badly, but that she would always love him and take care of him, no matter how old he happened to be.

In response, Dean gave you a worried look and touched your face - likely reading the emotion in your features. Already attuned to the feelings of others, even at such a young age.

Struggling to keep your voice steady as his wide green eyes studied yours, you assured him that the Queen and the King's brother and friends did everything that was necessary to change him back again.

And they all lived happily ever after, of course.

Dean seemed to approve of that ending and smiled to himself while he idly stroked and played with your hair. You realized in that moment that his adult fascination with your tresses likely stems from memories of his all-too-brief time with his mother. It's a comfort some part of him has always desperately missed, whether he's conscious of its origin or not.

You vow to yourself that you will never, _ever_ call him out on it.

Sam enters your room at the height of hunter stealth, but stops just inside your door. He waits for you to acknowledge his presence before he approaches the bed.

Silently, he crouches down beside you, staring at his brother in awe.

"I can't get over how little he is..." he whispers in disbelief, more to himself than you. "I mean... I always knew... But _seeing_ him at this age?" He trails off for a moment. "He just always seemed larger than life when I was growing up. Did you know this was the age when he started looking after me? Feeding me? Hell, even changing my diapers? God, he's still just a baby himself."

Sam shakes his head, reaching out carefully to brush Dean's hair back out of his face. His hand is the size of Dean's head. You pretend not to notice the way that hand trembles before he withdraws it.

"It's just... I know what happened to Mom was traumatic for both of them... But how truly screwed in the head with grief must our Dad have been that he would put so much responsibility on such an innocent little boy?"

You hold your tongue as Sam slips into silence, allowing him his introspection. He seems otherwise calm, so you know they must have found a way to keep Dean safe for the time-being.

After a long moment, he shakes his head and blinks to clear the excess moisture from his eyes. He clears his throat quietly as he stands.

"We've got it contained," he finally whispers. "Right before I poked my head in to check on him last, it let off another blast of power. It couldn't break through the spells we've put in place, though. They're holding steady, so we've started trying to find ways to get him back to normal."

"Thank God," you sigh in relief. "Anything look promising?"

"There's one spell. But it has to be read by a 'priestess' of Isis," he says with an arched brow.

"Gotta be a _virgin_ priestess?" You ask with a smirk.

"Nope," he chuckles.

"Then I am all about Isis," you assure as you climb to your feet. "Sign me up and let's do this."

* * *

**A/N:** Thoughts? Want more? Happy with the story so far? Want to cuddle Dean Weechester or hug sad-Sam?


	4. Swagger and Sin

An hour later, everything is set up and ready to go. You kiss Dean's forehead before trying to leave him with Sam. He's going to remain on the opposite side of the bunker from where you are heading, hopefully a safe distance away in case something goes wrong.

When you try to walk away, he wails and cries and nearly climbs out of Sam's arms in his desperation to reach you. As always, at any age, you quickly give in to Dean's pleas.

"Careful - you're gonna spoil him," Sam teases with a smirk.

"Oh, it is _way_ too late for that," you laugh as you cuddle Dean close.

You rock him for a few moments and tell him that the Queen has to go help bring the King back now. You ask him to be brave, tell him that he will be safe with the King's brother, and he grudgingly allows you to pass him back to Sam.

"Good luck," Sam offers, his eyes lined with worry.

The same look is in little Dean's eyes.

As far as spells go, it's all pretty standard. No nudity required. No special garments or painted symbols on your person. Just light those candles here, burn this herb there, draw these symbols on that, pour this foul-smelling liquid in, say these words...

You feel like you're falling suddenly, growing cold as your life drains away. You panic, recognizing the sensation from the time you were pushed beyond the point of death by torture.

In your terror, some part of you instinctively clings to the last ember of your life - fights to survive with every remaining ounce of strength you can muster...

You aren't prepared for the eruption of light and power that hits you squarely in the chest, or the way it knocks you flat on your back and sends you sliding halfway across the room.

**-SPN-**

You wake up several minutes later, feeling like you've been run over (repeatedly) by an eighteen-wheeler.

"Ooowww," you groan before you even attempt to open your eyes. You roll your throbbing head from side to side, trying to get your bearings.

When you finally manage to lift your heavy eyelids, you're greeted by a pair of troubled expressions. Castiel is crouched down beside you, his brow furrowed in concern. Kevin is chewing his thumb anxiously, peering down at you over the angel's shoulder with wide, plainly startled eyes.

Evidently, they hadn't expected the blast that hit you, either.

Cas has his hand pressed to your brow, apparently giving your body and soul the angelic equivalent of an IV drip. You sigh and lean into his touch as his divine grace continues moving through you, washing over you, soft and slow like a warm wave, working to heal you. It's a far gentler sensation than it was last time (then again, healing up a disemboweling is bound to be more intense and involved).

"Is she okay yet?" Kevin whispers frantically, drawing your attention. "Because if she's not, and Dean's back to normal and about to burst through that door, I am so not gonna be the one to tell him!"

"Relax, Kev. I'm okay," you offer hoarsely.

"_Winchester_-okay," Kevin corrects disapprovingly.

"Winchester-okay," you agree with a weak smirk.

Cas frowns at the level of frailty he still senses in you. In response, he ups the dosage of power he's administering.

"Ah, yeah," you sigh in immense relief. "There's the good stuff, Cas. You were holding out on me," you mumble drowsily before closing your eyes and surrendering to your exhaustion.

The pain in your head - likely from it connecting with the floor - just melts away in the presence of his grace.

Another few moments pass as you soak up his healing light. You can feel it coursing through your veins. Muscles that had felt weak and useless slowly regain much of their strength. Your mind clears gradually and you open your eyes as you feel your mental clarity return (mostly) to normal.

"The spell took a great toll on your body. Far more than we expected," Castiel explains as he removes his hand.

You try not to pout too openly over the loss of his power. It's always tough to go from that connection with angelic radiance back to the dark, gritty reality of mortal existence.

"It also drained you almost completely of your life energy. We were unaware that this would occur," Cas continues unhappily. "We were far too hasty in our decision to use such a spell. We were not aware of all of the dangers it posed to your safety. Dean would not have approved."

He glares down at the floor. His jaw flexes in a manner he undoubtedly learned from watching the Winchesters in moments of intense emotion.

He shakes his head before adding, "I have done what I can to help you recover your strength, but you will need a great deal of rest. You will be unsteady for a time. You should take a few moments before even trying to stand."

You nod and mutter your thanks, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance and appreciation.

"Dean?" You ask quietly.

Castiel squints as he seeks him out. "I am sorry that I cannot say whether the spell was a success, but he is alive and well," he assures.

"I'll take that for the good news it is," you say in relief. With Cas' aid, you slowly sit up. "As long as he's okay, we can always try something else."

"You want some water or something?" Kevin asks hopefully, and you nod. "Okay, give me two seconds," he says, thankful as always for the opportunity to be helpful. He rushes out of the door on the left side of the room just as Sam opens the door on the right.

You look up expectantly, but find Sam peeking in at you with an anxious expression on his face. You sag in disappointment and brace yourself for the worst. He looks far more nervous now than he had when walking through the front door carrying a 12 year old Dean.

"Did it work?" You ask, but you know it didn't.

"Well, we're definitely heading in the right direction," he offers with forced cheerfulness. "But...um... I should say in advance that I'm _really_ sorry about this."

You frown. "Sorry about what?"

"Step aside, Sasquatch. You take up the whole damned door," a voice calls from behind him impatiently.

Your ears perk up hopefully at the level of snark in his (albeit, too high and not nearly rough enough) tone. But then Dean slides into the room past his brother looking all of about 17 years old.

You sigh in exhaustion as you take in this latest version of him.

Now just a couple of inches shy of his full, adult height, he's almost filling out his clothes. He doesn't have his normal muscle mass, but you can tell, even through his shirt, that he's cut...in a lean, teenage sort of way, at least.

But, teen or not, he's already got a full dose of that dangerous Dean swagger. The broad shoulders and unbelievable green eyes. The full lips that he knows damned well make women's blood pressures skyrocket. The confidence in his movements born of a lifetime spent training to fight.

You shake your head, thinking it's no wonder he ended up with so much experience. No teenager should possess this much sex appeal before age can grant any semblance of self control. Then again, considering how much the rest of his life sucked, you suppose you really can't blame him for over-indulging in that particular department.

He pauses and peers up at Sam, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Jesus, what did I _feed_ you?" He asks incredulously for the second time today.

Before Sam has a chance to reply, he turns away from him, his eyes surveying the room. He gives Castiel a disinterested once-over. When he spots you, however, his face instantly shifts into his most charming smile. His entire demeanor changes, just as it always does when he's trying to get you into bed with him.

Cas has the good sense to take several preemptive steps out of the way.

"Well, hello, gorgeous," Dean calls as he makes a b-line for you.

"Oh, Lord," you groan, rolling your eyes as you move to try to climb to your feet.

Dean catches your hand to help you up, and, just as he intended, you wind up standing with your front completely pressed against his. His arms are wrapped around your middle as he holds you close. As if he's never used this move on you.

"I'm Dean," he greets as he gazes down into your eyes intensely. "Though, I'm betting we already know one another intimately. And you would be? Aside from damned near edible, that is," he purrs and licks those wickedly full lips suggestively.

God grant you strength. He's the embodiment of teenage sin.

"Entirely too old for you," you assure.

"Oh, I don't buy that for a second," he chuckles. "But we'll get back to that later. Tell me, have you and I had the pleasure of...having the pleasure? Cuz I gotta say, unless I turned gay in my old age - highly unlikely - I've definitely been trying and dying to get with you."

He backs away and circles you, letting his eyes greedily take in every curve.

"No shit, is that a piece?" He marvels as he taps on the ever-present gun tucked into your jeans at the small of your back, hidden beneath your shirt. "Tell me you're a hunter, too. Or rather, a hunt_ress_? Is it my birthday?" He asks with a wide grin as he comes around in front of you.

"Dean, give it a rest," Sam sighs.

In response, Dean turns and gives him a disbelieving look.

"What, did you give me a lobotomy or something by the time I get this old? Have you looked at her? Or can't you see past that ridiculous mane of hair?" He demands before motioning over to you like you're Exhibit A in his argument. "The girl's smokin' hot and able to kick ass, Sammy. You can't possibly believe 'give it a rest' is gonna work on me."

"I can hope," Sam replies.

Kevin returns, eyeing Dean curiously for a minute before holding up the glass of water he retrieved. "Well, at least the spell worked...somewhat," he observes as he pulls his phone from his pocket and takes a picture of Dean's 3rd underaged edition of the day.

You nod, eager to get the subject off of teen-dream-Dean's apparent mission to get into your pants. You take several (slow, careful) steps away from him, using the excuse of retrieving the water from Kevin.

"Yeah. He gained back, what? About 13 years?" You estimate as you glance over at him.

Dean flashes a mischievous smirk in response, then puckers his lips and curls his finger at you in hopes of tempting you back to his side.

"He's halfway there," you sigh and look at Sam instead as you down the water.

"At least we're on the right track," Sam offers. "We just need to find a way to control whatever we try next. Pinpoint what age we want him to change into."

"Definitely," Kevin laughs, taking the empty glass back from you. "He goes through another round of de-aging, she's liable to be changing her boyfriend's diapers."

You and Sam both wince at that, knowing damned well what's coming now.

Dean's eyes widen instantly.

"_Boyfriend?!_" He repeats gleefully and grins so wide, you'd think he just found the Golden Ticket.

"Thanks a lot, Kevin," you grumble.

"I knew it! I knew I couldn't be that blind. As long as I've got a pulse, there's no way I'm gonna resist something so fine," he laughs as he closes the distance between the two of you. "So, I landed me a fox, huh?" He asks, biting his bottom lip and letting his eyes slide over your body with renewed (and even more intense) interest. "Wanna tell me all the sweaty details my future holds? Maybe take me for a test-drive, see what I'm like without all the mileage?"

You roll your eyes. "Mileage?" You repeat, offended on the behalf of _your_ Dean. "You mean experience? Maturity?"

"All right, I'll give you the 'experience' part," Dean grants. "But I am definitely calling bullshit on 'maturity'."

Sam gives you a look that conveys his agreement there.

"Whatever," you say dismissively and pinch the bridge of your nose as a headache starts.

You're way too tired for this. You're getting grumpier by the second and you just want Dean back. Your Dean. Not him at 12 or 4 or 17 or any other wrong age. You want the real deal. You want the man you love, the way you fell in love with him, to be standing in front of you, right here, right now. You want to wrap your arms around him, kiss him crazy, smack him upside the head for ever letting that damned stone touch him, then take him to bed.

"What else can we try, Sam?" You whine (that's right, whine) desperately. "Is there another spell I can do or-?" You turn towards him, but your equilibrium doesn't appreciate the movement. At all.

An overwhelming wave of vertigo hits and you almost go down. You close your eyes and lock your muscles instinctively, preventing yourself from taking a dive. You refuse to fall in front of any of them.

You feel someone steady you, but you're too busy trying to stay upright to give it much thought. It feels like the room is spinning out of control. The sensation is turning your stomach.

"Ugh, God," you groan as you hang onto the shoulders and press your forehead to the chest of whoever is helping you stay on your feet. You try really hard not to think about who it is.

"_Uh-oh_," Kevin whispers off to the side.

"I warned her that she needs to rest," Castiel insists.

"Uh-oh, what?" Sam asks suspiciously. "And why would she need rest?"

"What's wrong, sugar?" Dean asks in a tone heavy with worry, the proximity of his voice confirming that he's the one you're currently clinging to. "You pregnant?" He whispers gently beside your ear.

But it's all wrong. Those words from those lips in that caring tone - they tug at your heartstrings. But it's not right. **He's** not right.

"What _is it _with you wanting me to get knocked up?" You growl in frustration, and squeeze your eyes shut tighter as you fight not to throw up.

"Whoa." Dean breathes in surprise.

"TMI!" Kevin laughs.

"Wait, _what_?" Sam asks in astonishment.

You shake your head, immediately regretting the movement, but knowing that you need to clarify that statement quickly.

"Not _my_ Dean. These younger Deans. They're baby-crazy," you sigh.

"Okay, fair enough," Dean offers softly, almost placatingly. You scowl at that. "So, you're not knocked up. Then what's wrong with you?" He only waits a few seconds before turning his expectant eyes to Kevin and Castiel. "What's wrong with her?"

"The spell...um...didn't go quite how we planned," Kevin confesses nervously.

"What? What the hell happened?" Sam demands.

"She was used as the source of power for the spell," Castiel replies gruffly. "It was a trade."

You don't need to open your eyes to know that Sam is giving the standard International Sign of Sam Displeasure (a long, slow inhale through his nose paired with a deeply concerned expression - maybe even a jaw flex, too.)

"You had to heal her?" Sam asks tensely.

"Yes," Cas confirms.

"Is that _all_ you had to do?" Sam presses purposefully.

At the deliberately vague wording of that question, Castiel pauses. He's trying to gauge what he can say in front of Dean.

"That is all," Cas agrees cautiously.

You feel Dean's shoulders tense. He knows he's being kept in the dark about something, and he's not at all happy about it.

"What the hell does that mean, exactly?" Dean demands. "And what does it mean that she was 'the source of power'?"

"Just tell him the truth, Cas," you groan tiredly as you open your eyes and glance over at him. "You know damned well he'll be like a dog on a bone with it anyway."

"It means that she is lucky to be alive. Lucky that I did not need to resurrect her, in addition to healing her," Castiel answers in open disapproval. "We should have taken the time to research more thoroughly beforehand. In our haste, we unknowingly put her in grave danger.

"The spell drew upon her physical strength and energy to restore your body and mind to this stage. We were very fortunate that the spell failed when her energy... and almost her life... were so very nearly depleted. Had the process been allowed to continue without her instincts spurring her to fight, you would be back to the appropriate age now, but she would not have survived."

Dean's grip on you tightens, and even if he is still too damned young, you're comforted by the familiar protective possessiveness of the gesture.

You close your eyes again. His arms are warm, if a bit too small. You're just so damned tired. You want to curl up with him and go to sleep. But not _him_ him... _Your_ him. You remind yourself that you're not accepting any substitutions, no matter how bone weary you currently feel.

"She's not doing that spell again," Dean declares in a tone that broaches no argument.

"Agreed," Sam insists. "No matter what you say."

You open your eyes to find him giving you a pointed look.

"But it worked!" You sigh in exasperation. "If we could find a way to-"

"_NO_," both brothers answer firmly.

You sag in defeat.

"So what do we do now?" You ask.

"Now? You're going to sleep for however long your body needs," Sam orders. "The rest of us can catch some shut eye, then we'll hit the books again."

You're too exhausted to even argue. You hear Dean ask where your room is, and smirk when Sam offers to take you instead. Dean grouses that you're _his_ girlfriend, _not_ Sam's, and he should be the one taking care of you.

Sam manages to get his way, somehow.

You're already well on your way to sleep by the time you feel Sam put you in bed. He pulls the covers up over your shoulders and tells you that they'll check on you - not to worry about anything. He assures you that they won't try anything with Dean until after you're back on your feet.

You wake a few times to him - sometimes him and Dean - coming in and making sure you're okay. It's been 16 hours since you fell asleep before you finally get up to use the bathroom.

By hour 19, the brothers bring you something to eat. Sam is watching Dean's every move like a chaperone. You assure them that you're feeling much better at that point, but you need a little longer before you're back to full strength. Once they've left, you climb under the blankets and quickly fall back asleep.

* * *

**A/N:** How are you liking it so far? Thoughts? Anything make you LOL? Can you picture teen-dream-Dean? Looking forward to the next part?


	5. Tell Me Again

You feel the familiar dip in the mattress beside you, and in the back of your still-sleeping mind, you dismiss it as safe. _Dean_.

You feel him settle down beside you, feel the familiar comfort of his hand running through your hair. He kisses your face softly and adoringly - your forehead, your chin, your cheeks. His full lips press to yours and you sigh contentedly as you instinctively lean into his kiss.

You moan as his talented tongue parts your lips and dips inside. He tastes like pie and the promise of mind-blowing sex. He slides a hand beneath your head, angling your mouth just right as he kisses you hungrily.

Just like always, he pulls away, leaving you desperate for more as he nips at your lips. He nibbles his way across your jaw, pausing to groan a rough and breathy, "_Mmm, baby_..." against your ear. You let out a thoroughly aroused moan of his name and hear his whisper of a chuckle in response.

It's not until you kiss him deeply, wrap your legs around his hips, and grip his shoulders, preparing to roll him onto his back and have your way with him, that you realize something's wrong with this picture. He's too narrow. Too lean. His torso is just a little too short, making it just a little too easy for his mouth to slot with yours.

And you're grinding up against the only part of him that _is_ the right size.

You freeze in place, mid-lip-lock for several seconds, as it dawns on you.

Knowing the jig is up, Dean smiles against your mouth and sucks on your bottom lip playfully. When you push him up off of you far enough to meet his eyes, you can just make out the shape of his self-satisfied smirk.

"Tell me again how I'm too young to take care of you, sugar," he teases and punctuates that sentence by grinding down against you.

You growl in frustration and shove him off of you. Mostly out of mortification that you were groping him in your sleep. Partly because, for a fraction of a second just now, you seriously considered not stopping.

He's still laughing as he lands on his back on the other side of the mattress.

"What the _hell_, Dean?" You demand.

"Aww, come on. You can't blame me for wanting a little... taste of what my future holds," he jokes and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Besides, from what I hear, you and I are the real deal. Till death do us part. It ain't like we've never done this before."

"Not with you as a damned teenager!" You insist shrilly.

"Details," he says with a bored roll of his eyes. "I'm only a few months shy of legal, darling. And if you're worried about corrupting the morals of this particular minor? _Don't_. That bell's looonng-since been rung. This sure as shit ain't the biggest age difference I've ignored."

"Ugh!" You growl in disgust, not particularly wanting to consider just how many cougar teachers, waitresses, bartenders, and motel managers Dean tagged in his youth. "Go sleep in your own damned room," you huff.

"Yeah, yeah," he says with a dismissive wave.

He rolls over onto his stomach, stretching to reach your nightstand. He clicks on the light and you try to resist the urge to check out his fantastic (NO - too young!) ass, and compare it to the version you're intimately familiar with.

"For the record? I looked around in '_my_ room'," he says incredulously as he picks up various items from your nightstand and inspects them curiously. "There's dust all around 'my' headboard. Most of the stuff hasn't been moved in months. Not a scrap of clothing in there, like it's all somewhere else." He looks over his shoulder at you with a knowing smirk. "I sleep in here with you every night, don't I? That's why you didn't even flinch when I got into bed."

"Yeah, fine. You stay in here," you grudgingly admit before adding, "But _you_ don't stay in here. Got it?"

"Quit acting so prude. I know you can't be. Not when you're screwing me exclusively," he teases as he opens the top drawer. He laughs victoriously when he looks inside. "Ho ho! Jackpot!"

You roll your eyes and climb from the bed, shuffling around to the other side to interrupt his investigation.

He takes the opportunity to rifle through your (actually, his) drawer's contents, shoving aside handcuffs and lube and other such fun items before picking up the massage oil.

"'_Rub it on, then turn up the heat with a lick or hot breath'_..." he reads from the label before snapping open the top and giving it an experimental sniff. "Ooh - cinnamon," he mutters in approval. He puts a couple of drops on the back of his hand and licks them off. "Hot... tingly..." he notes as he flexes his hand. "The things I must do to you with this stuff, huh? Or wait... the things you must do to _me_?" He amends gleefully.

"Lord, help me," you groan and snatch the bottle from his hand, closing it and placing it back where it belongs. He rifles through the drawer for a few more seconds before you manage to tug his hand out and get it closed.

When you look down at him, he's got a surprised smile on his face.

"What?" You sigh in frustration.

"No rubbers?" He asks, motioning to the now-shut drawer of fun as his smile widens exponentially. "Wow. I'm breaking my non-negotiable rule #1 for you, baby. We really are serious, aren't we?"

"Yeah. We're serious," you reply simply.

"You on the pill?"

"Really?" You ask indignantly. "This again?"

"What? I'm just curious! Are we, um..." He scratches the back of his head nervously. "We planning on kids?" He asks with a smirk, but his eyes betray the emotion behind that question.

"You asked me that when you were 12, too," you say as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep a few feet of space between you.

"So... What did you tell 12 year old me?" He presses.

"Same as I'm going to tell you: _No_. I mean... we've never even talked about it. I doubt it'll come up. Kinda like getting married. Neither of us is exactly expecting to see 50. Or 40, for that matter."

He nods and picks up a book from the top of your nightstand, using it to keep his eyes averted and hide his disappointment. When you notice him swallow hard, the way he always does when something upsets him to the point where he's got a lump in his throat, you can't handle it.

"But...anything's possible," you reluctantly add. "You'd make an awesome father. I mean, you raised Sam pretty much on your own and I've seen you with plenty of kids, so I know that much. And considering how often you jump my ass, there might be a surprise somewhere along the way."

That perks him up. He smiles over at you appreciatively for not squashing his personal hopes of ever being a father. He nods to himself, puckering those full lips thoughtfully for a long moment.

"I treat you right?" He finally asks.

"Always," you assure.

"Got any pics of us?"

You stand from the bed, retrieving your phone and scrolling through the gallery. You make sure you've locked Dean's latest additions. The guy is a major fan of talking you into (and sneaking) pictures and videos during the act. It's the reason every electronic device either of you owns has to be password protected these days. He's also a fan of stealing your phone and leaving little photographic gifts for you. And as much as you complain about his 'amateur photography,' it's always a welcome, pleasant surprise to stumble upon Dean's naked body in your phone.

Satisfied that all incriminating images have been safely locked away, you sit back down, waiting for the younger version of him to sit up and slide closer. You show him how to use the phone, then watch as he drinks in every (fully clothed, normal couple-type) image.

"At least I'm still adorable," he comments with a smirk.

"You are that," you laugh.

"We look good together," he declares. "Happy."

"Yup," you agree.

After a minute, he stops and grins over at you wickedly.

"There are _locked_ pictures in here..." he says in intrigue before investigating further. "Oh and _videos_, too! See? I knew you weren't a prude!"

"Give it back," you sigh and hold your hand out expectantly.

He shakes his head and clutches the phone to his chest, preventing you from snatching it from his grasp.

"Oh, come on! Can't I get a peek?" He whines. "What if I want to see what **_I_** look like in my 30s? Wouldn't you be curious in my position?"

You scowl for a moment, before a smile gradually spreads across your lips.

"Okay, fine," you agree, and stand from the bed.

"Really?" He asks and sits up eagerly.

"Really," you agree, knowing that he mistakenly believes that he's about to see pictures and video of you naked. He hands over the phone and you put enough distance between you to prevent him from snatching it back while you find what you're looking for. "There you go. That's you in your 30s."

You hand the phone back, and watch his eyes widen as he sees the pictures of just himself - none of you. It's the most recent batch of Dean's gifts.

"Damn. I got big," he laughs, then adds quickly, "I mean in my chest and arms. Everything else is still the same," he assures with a wink.

You shift guiltily and avert your eyes because - _oh yeah_ - you know that's the damned truth.

He chuckles at your reaction before returning his attention to your phone.

"No wonder you're missing me, girl," he declares with an impressed whistle. "I am one sexy bitch."

He hands the phone back and you close the gallery, letting it go back to your wallpaper. You stare down at the photo of you both laying in the grass, recalling yet again the moments leading up to it.

"Post-quickie?" He asks in amusement, and you look over at him in surprise. "Oh, come on. I know that face. That's my 'I just talked my way into getting some' grin."

"Only you would have a specific grin for that," you say as you shake your head.

But you find yourself staring down at the face on the screen again, this time frowning slightly. You get that same sickening feeling in your gut that always comes when you two are separated during a hunt.

"You miss him?" He asks quietly. "I mean, you know, _me_?"

You nod and give a weak smile.

He watches you sympathetically for a moment before putting his arm around your shoulders. You consider shoving him off of you, but then he kisses the top of your head in that familiar Dean-comfort way.

"It'll be okay," he assures softly. "Sammy's on the books. No matter how gigantic he got, he's still a little research geek at heart. He'll figure it out."

You laugh lightly and nod in agreement.

He starts to move you both to lie back on the bed, but you stop and brace yourself against his chest. You give him a warning glare, and he shakes his head.

"Not gonna try anything," he insists with a chuckle. "Just sleep."

You arch a brow. "You've said that before, you know. The first time you ever got into this bed."

"Did I now?" He laughs. "All right, fair enough. But did I try anything that night?"

You grudgingly shake your head.

"Cool. So it's settled," he says cheerfully and pulls you down onto the bed beside him.

Just like always, aside from the fact that he's now half his normal age, he spoons with you and nuzzles in your hair. He brings his arm down over your side and finds your hand, interlacing your fingers and sighing contentedly.

After a moment, he whispers, "I'm a lucky guy. I tell you that, right?"

You smile warmly. "You do."

Another few moments pass before you feel the growing hardness settled against the crack of your ass.

"_Dean_..." you warn.

"What?!" He laughs. "Can't blame me. Not exactly like I can control it with that fine little ass pressed against me."

You scoot forward a few inches, leaving only your back pressed to his chest.

"Then our old pre-hook-up rules apply. No touching below the belt."

"Jesus, we had rules? Just how often was I in here sleeping with you before we finally got together?" He asks curiously.

"Every night for more than a week," you answer, smiling at the memory. "I'd go to bed alone, and wake up with you climbing in. You were very persistent."

"Hmm... I must have gotten a lot more self control in my old age," he jokes before kissing the back of your head. "But you're worth the wait," he whispers.

* * *

**A/N:** What do you think? Are you rooting for you to give in to the temptation that is teen-Dean? Or would you hold out for the return of your MAN? Let me know!


	6. Temptation Waits

Three days.

THREE. Freaking. _DAYS_.

It's been three terribly long, torturously-tempting, hormone-drenched days since Dean turned into a 17 (just shy of legal) year old. Sam's been giving you sympathetic looks and shrugs, knowing damned well what you're up against.

Teen-dream-Dean (as you've taken to calling him full-time in your mind) is determined to break your resistance. On more than one occasion, he's come alarmingly close to succeeding.

By night, he's curled around you in your bed, the hard-on he just 'can't help' always managing to brush against you 'accidentally.' When he wakes, he stretches and groans in deliberately arousing ways, arching his back and twisting his body in angles that remind you just how flexible he really is.

By day, he's taken to strutting around shirtless most of the time, his jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips. The thin, dark blonde line of his happy trail and those terribly distracting, downward sweeping lines at the sides of his bottom abs will be the death of you yet.

He rubs your shoulders. He plays with your hair. He relentlessly puckers and licks and bites his full lips. He breathily whispers things into your ear that don't need to be whispered at all.

You're so damned sexually frustrated at this point, you can barely read to research a way to get him back to normal.

It's 11:30 PM, a little earlier than the time you typically head to bed. You've been successfully avoiding Dean for the past two hours (which should have clued you in that you're in trouble). Deciding to test your luck, you sneak off to your room solo.

You quickly get changed into a tank top and sweatpants before going into your bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Within two minutes, he slides into the room behind you. You don't even attempt to hold back your groan and slouch of defeat at the fact that he's found you again.

"Hey, lover," he greets with an ill-behaved smile.

There's a renewed spark of mischief in those smoldering green eyes. You freeze in place when you see it, knowing without a doubt that he's up to something. It's as if the words, '_I know something you don't know_' are dancing in his gaze.

With his eyes locked on yours in the mirror, he leans forward, pressing his warm, bare chest to your back and running his equally warm, strong hands slowly down your bare arms, from your shoulders to your hands. He interlaces your fingers and presses a kiss to your temple.

You close your eyes, wincing at the effort it takes not to respond to his touch. He's still _Dean_. He's still just about irresistable, even if you do have good reason to resist. You can't take much more of this.

He releases your right hand... and then you hear something being set on the counter in front of you with deliberate care. You take a deep breath, knowing whatever it is, he thinks he's laying down an Ace.

Your stomach drops when you work up the courage to look.

It's Dean's missing cell phone.

The one you've been frantically and discretely trying to find for the past three days, just so that he wouldn't get his hands on it.

_Holy freaking shit balls_.

"Found it in the Impala a couple days ago," he says with a knowing smirk.

So the bastard knew you were trying to find it. You hold your breath and cling to the hope that maybe...just _maybe_ he couldn't access the phone..._maybe_ he wasn't able to figure out his password...

"Took me a little bit to crack my password, but DAMN was it worth the effort," he assures with a self-satisfied smile.

You're screwed.

He leans closer, resting his chin on your shoulder and peering down at the phone as he turns it on. A few swipes of his finger across the screen and he's pressing play on one of the many videos you had just _known_ were gonna come back to bite you in the ass one day.

Instantly, the combined groans, hisses, and pants of you and Dean going at it echo through the room at full volume.

'_Oh, God, Dean... You feel so good, babe_...' you moan breathlessly on the video.

Your cheeks turn crimson as you cover your face.

"Aww, don't stop watching now," he chuckles and pulls your hand away from your still-closed eyes. "This is my favorite part."

'_Take it, baby. Uunnfff, yeah. Ride it, girl. That's it,' _Dean coaxes roughly through the speaker. '_You love it when I fill you up like this, don't you? Stretch you right out. __Always so good for me. So gorgeous like this..._'

"Son of a bitch," you huff in abject frustration at the familiar pre-orgasmic tone in his gruff voice.

Your knees almost give out as you listen to (and glance down at) the two of you finishing together on the phone's screen.

When it's over and the video has stopped playing, you grip the counter and take a long moment to slow your breathing. Mercifully, teen-dream-Dean is content to simply watch as you try and pull yourself back together.

When you finally scowl up at him in the mirror, he smiles and leans closer again.

"That, sugar, was without a doubt, the _hottest_ thing I have ever seen," he purrs against your ear.

"Dean... we've been over this," you sigh. "I'm not gonna have sex with you. And you're not fighting fair," you whine as he nips the shell of your ear. He can't tempt you for three days straight, then use your _man_ Dean to push you past your breaking point. It's dirty pool!

Hmm... isn't that just a highly appropriate description for your pool-hustling boyfriend's hijinks?

"I never fight fair, baby," he whispers. "I fight to win."

You shrug him off of you, growling in frustration as you try to focus on the task of brushing your teeth. You've just taken a swig of Listerine when you look up into the mirror and see Dean unbuckling his belt and taking off his jeans behind you.

The mirror gets a full spray of spit-out mouthwash as you nearly choke on it.

"What the hell do you think you're you doing now?!" You demand shrilly between coughs.

"Getting a shower," he answers in feigned innocence before sliding his boxers down his legs. He stands back upright, wearing nothing but a knowing grin. "And since I'm 'too young' for you and 'just a teenager,' it shouldn't be any problem for you to see me like this, right?"

You bite your tongue. He's not _built_ like a damned teenager. Part of you really wishes he was.

He climbs into the shower, turning on the water, but failing to pull the curtain even halfway closed. You stand at the sink, dumbstruck, as he steps beneath the spray. He wets his hair and face while you try not to let your eyes follow the rivulets of water running down his muscular arms, chest, and stomach.

"No way I can convince you to come give me a hand with this, huh?" He teases.

You don't need to ask what '_this_' he needs a hand with.

"Okay. Suit yourself," he sighs.

Without so much as a shred of hesitation or modesty, he promptly leans back against the tiled wall in full view, closes his eyes, and gets to work taking care of things himself.

Your jaw drops open.

He bites his full bottom lip. His breathing hitches. He growls low in his throat.

You close your eyes, hoping to block him out, but that just leaves you listening to the wet, rhythmic movement of his hand.

You damned near rip the sink off the wall, you're gripping the counter so tightly.

"_You looked so damned good riding me, baby_," he groans as he rolls his head against the tiles. "_Haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Never gonna be able to get myself off thinking about anything else after seeing that_."

So...the pre-orgasmic rambling thing isn't new, evidently.

At his very first desperate, frantic, close-to-the-edge moan of your name, you've officially had enough.

Your frustration is at a boiling point and your temper flares. His voice is too high. Not rough enough. To freaking _teenaged_. You want him, sure - it can't be helped. He is Dean, after all, regardless of his age. But you don't _want_ to want him. And you don't want him to try to seduce you or change your mind, either. You've already said as much. Repeatedly. You'd say it in latin if you thought for a second it would get through to the kid.

Sure, he's not innocent by any means. Sure, he's not really _all that_ young. But you're having a really hard time reconciling all of these different Deans in your head. Let us not forget that, just before he turned into his current bundle of hormones and strutted into your world, you were cradling him and telling him bedtime stories as a 4 year old.

And maybe it's stupid, but some small part of you feels like, if you give in, you'd be cheating on _your_ Dean with - how did Cas put it? - a 'lesser form.' It feels like, by taking him as he is now, you would be giving up on getting him back to normal - settling because you don't really believe the man you love is coming back. You're terrified of even considering that. You need him - baggage and all. You love his baggage, damn it. You need the guy who's been to Hell and back. The guy who's given all for family and bears the scars to prove it. The guy with a heart of gold that's been shattered and reassembled countless times.

That settles it.

It's time to put your foot down.

Judging by the frantic pace of Dean's hand and the pornographic babbling that's currently tumbling from his lips, he's about ten seconds from coming.

You turn on your heel and stalk toward the shower, but instead of climbing in and joining him, as he intended, you grab the faucet handles and turn the water to full-blast, ice cold.

His pre-orgasmic moans of ecstasy instantly change to a long, high-pitched screech.

The sound puts a victorious smile on your face as you yank the shower curtain closed. He's still shrieking long after you stomp out of the bathroom and slam the door.

Two minutes later, you're barging into the war room.

"That's it! I've had it!" You declare.

Sam sits back in his chair, giving you a bemused look. "Took you long enough."

You plop down into the chair across from him and drag a stack of books over in front of you.

"I'm serious, Sam. At this point, I don't care if the spell calls for me to chop off my own left _foot_, we are going to find something to fix Dean."

"What did he do now?" Sam sighs.

You give him a look that clearly asks whether he really wants to know.

Sam shakes his head adamantly in response to your unspoken question. "I don't want to know," he insists.

You can't say you're surprised when you hear the wet, bare feet slapping along angrily down the hall a minute later. You don't turn to look when he stops behind you.

Sam's eyes widen and he bursts out laughing at the pitiful sight of his brother in that moment.

Dean is standing there, fuming mad, dripping wet and shivering, clutching a towel around his waist.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" He demands in barely contained indignation.

"No, Dean, you cannot," you sigh heavily. "What you _can_ do is go to bed. _Your_ bed. In _your_ room. _Alone_."

You hear him inhale sharply and take a step back as if he's been slapped.

"But-!" He cries in wounded disbelief.

"And tomorrow," you continue loudly, effectively cutting him off. "We'll talk about how - if you ever want to sleep in my room again - that little stunt you just pulled is going to remain an isolated incident."

There's silence behind you for a long moment.

You hear him shuffle guiltily from one foot the other.

Sam's mouth is hanging open. He's eyeing you in amazement for putting the teenage badass of his memories in his place.

"Okay...fine. Be that way, killjoy," Dean mutters miserably. "But... _that_? What _you_ did? Was just plain uncalled for," he declares.

With that said, he turns and stalks out of the room.

He's been gone for a couple of minutes before Sam finally manages to close his mouth.

"All right, now I kinda do want to know," Sam admits with an astonished chuckle. "Can you give me the edited version?"

"He was acting entirely too hot for his current age," you answer without looking up from the pages you're scouring. "I cooled him off."

* * *

**A/N:** Ohhhh, Dean. Any LOL-ing? Love it? Hate it? Need a cold shower of your own? Leaning toward giving in to him now or should you wait for him to get back to normal?


	7. Ice Water Under the Bridge

You hear him slip into your room at about 5:30 am. He approaches the bed slowly and stands beside it for a while, trying to figure out what he's allowed to do here. After a few moments of indecision, he finally says your name quietly.

"What's the matter, Dean?" You ask through a yawn, as if you don't already know.

"It's...um...technically tomorrow," he offers with a self-conscious smile.

You roll over onto your back and gaze up at him. He looks tired and upset. Lost, even.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you, babe?" You ask quietly.

You realize that you feel kind of bad for him, now that the unbearable sexual frustration has passed. You were pissed last night, backed into a corner and - okay - you sort of lashed out. But looking up at him now, with his long, wet eyelashes and pale, exhausted complexion, you're having a hard time remembering why you were even so mad at him to begin with.

Sure, he's a horn-ball. He's freaking _Dean_. It's like, encoded in his DNA or something. And at 17, he's got teen hormones to contend with, on top of his typical insatiable sex drive.

Shit. You really do feel bad now.

In response to your question, he shakes his head and looks down at his hands. It's a technique he still uses as an adult to avoid eye contact during emotional conversations.

"Listen, I'm...sorry...for, you know, going too far. I figured it wasn't a big deal, since we're technically together anyway. But I... um... I realize now that you're not into me...you know, _yet_," he glances at you anxiously, trying to gauge your reaction to his words.

You sigh, because that's not really the problem. You are already 'into him,' even at this age. You just think it's wrong on multiple levels for you to be.

"Apology accepted," you say softly. After a moment, you lift up the covers in invitation. "Do you want to sleep in here?"

"_Hell yes_," he sighs in relief and dives onto the bed beside you. He starts to reach for you, like always, but pauses. "Umm...can I still...?"

"As long as you stick to the rules," you answer.

"No problem," he assures and eagerly moves to curl himself around you.

You laugh as he jostles you and the entire bed in his hurry to shimmy into position. Egged on by your laughter, he bounces you around some more and wriggles his arm beneath you. Once you're completely wrapped up in his arms, he gives an overly-loud contented sigh.

"Comfy?" You ask with a smirk as he nuzzles his nose behind your ear.

"_Very_," he assures.

You shake your head and take his heavy hand in yours, bringing it to your lips and kissing his scarred knuckles. It's a silly thing, really, that little gesture, but it's something you haven't done since this whole spelled-stone fiasco started.

"I'm sorry, too, you know," you offer.

"For the set of frozen blue-balls you gave me?" He asks with a smirk and you laugh. "Eh, call it ice water under the bridge. It was funny as hell...you know, _afterwards_," he assures. "Would've been funnier if it happened to somebody else, that's for damned sure, but I'll give credit where it's due. You got me good. I totally left myself open for it."

"Actually, I'm not all that sorry for the shower thing. You definitely needed to cool off," you tease. "No, I'm more sorry for forgetting that, as frustrating as this situation is for me, it's got to be just as bad for you."

You feel him shrug. "It's weird. Kinda tough to get used to all of this."

"I know," you say softly. "I mean, as far as you're concerned, the past 17 years of your life didn't even happen..."

You trail off as you take that sentence into consideration.

He's actually missing 57 years, if you want to get technical. Because, yeah, you're dating a guy with the body of a 34 year old, but 74 years of memories, after his time in Hell is factored in.

God, it's never dull with a Winchester, is it?

So, along that mindset, you're actually dating a guy who is usually 44 years older than you. And here you are, all hung up that he's now 13 years younger than you.

_Huh_.

"You're still a teenager," you continue, trying to ignore your internal revelation that you're a big, fat hypocrite. "You're in a whole different mindset than you will be by the time we get together. And we have no idea how long it's even gonna take to get you back to the right age."

You bite your bottom lip as you consider your next words. Do you mean them? You're not sure. The clenching of your heart tells you the answer is an adamant _NO!_, but you feel like you need to say them. It would be selfish not to at this point.

"So...if you want to go out and blow off some steam... Maybe see if you can meet somebody and-"

"_NO_," Dean cuts in quickly and firmly, unknowingly echoing the sentiments of your heart.

You frown. "What I'm trying to say is-"

"I know exactly what you're trying to say. Answer's still no," he declares with his trademark finality.

You roll over in his arms, looking up into his eyes and shaking your head.

"Dean, it's not fair for me not to be with you, but not let you be with anyone else, either. I can't have it both ways."

"Yes, you can and you _do_," he insists. "Look, whether we're screwing at the moment or not, we're still together. Till death-by-monster do us part, right? Hunter's marriage. Just because some stupid spell knocked my clock outta wack, I don't get a free pass to chase random skirts. And you know what? I don't want one. I want _you_. I'm not settling for anything less. If that means I gotta play handball till this all gets fixed, then so be it. But we're good together, the real deal, and I'm not about to screw it up for a meaningless piece of tail."

_There's_ your Dean. He's hiding in the intensity of those green eyes, in the stubborn set of that square jaw.

You smile warmly and nod, looking down at his t-shirt in hopes that he won't see the flaring of adoration in your gaze.

"I get that this shit is tough for you to work out in your head, baby," he says gently and you can't help but look back up into his eyes. "I know I haven't made it easy for you, and I'm sorry for that, but it's only because..." He trails off briefly, trying to find the right words. "I've never had..._this_," he says, inclining his head down to the way you're lying comfortably in his arms. "Let alone had it with somebody who knew about the hunting and all that comes along with it. Somebody that can hold her own and drive me crazy with just a sexy little smile. I never even let myself hope that I'd have somebody like you."

"_God_, you have _got_ to stop talking," you sigh with a smile.

Dean chuckles. "Still not making it easy, huh?"

"Definitely not," you answer.

"All right, then. This is me, shutting up," he says with a smirk.

He closes his eyes and snuggles closer, perfectly content now that he's back in your bed and holding you.

And that's really going to be enough for him, you marvel.

Despite the hormones and sex drive, he's really willing to just wait for you. He still cares for you deeply enough that he won't even consider going elsewhere.

"You are _so_ gonna owe me for this when I get back to normal, though," he declares with his eyes still closed, needing to inject some humor into the moment.

You smirk and peer up at him.

"_Big tim_e," he adds. "Like every Friday being Steak-and-BJ Day type big. Like I get to pick out the lingerie you're gonna strip tease for me in type big."

"Deal," you laugh and kiss his cheek.

* * *

**A/N:** Thoughts? Comments? Want this fixed immediately? Or are you looking forward to meeting another Dean? ;)


	8. The Good Kind of Speechless

Two sexless days later and Dean has been on his best behavior. He still wants to cuddle in bed at night and touch you in familiar, couple-ish ways during the day, but considering the fact that he no longer acts hellbent on getting into your pants, you allow him to take certain liberties. And given your frustration level at _still_ not finding a way to turn him back, you have to admit that it's nice to regularly be pulled into warm, reassuring hugs - complete with forehead kisses.

You and the rest of the team have been reading so much, your eyes are nearly crossed. For all your efforts, though, you've turned up nothing safe enough to try. You'd sworn that - between the four of you - you must have checked nearly every book in the bunker.

Then Sam informed you that you'd actually only covered about 10% of the texts.

Dean has been disappearing for long stretches of time while the rest of you research - presumably to watch TV or raid the vintage porn collection in his bedroom. Either way, it's easier than trying to read with him seated beside you, sighing and fidgeting in utter boredom.

It's evening now, and you're taking a break to grab some food (and rest your eyes).

You're standing in the kitchen making yourself a sandwich when Sam rushes in to find you. He's in such a hurry, he literally slides to a halt inside the door. You turn to face him while licking an errant drip of mustard from your thumb, but pause when you see the stunned look on his face.

"_Whaaaatt_?" You ask suspiciously around your tongue, which is still frozen mid-lick.

"I think Dean found it," he says in astonishment.

"Dean found what now?" You ask with a confused frown, but it quickly dawns on you. "Wait, you mean _IT_-it?"

You understand the stunned expression now. You didn't even know Dean had joined the research efforts. The only time you've seen him touch a book, he was curling his lip at it and nudging it across the table like a little kid pushing vegetables around their plate.

(_Actually, come to think of it, he does the same thing with vegetables as an adult_...)

"Yeah," Sam laughs in amazement. "I think he actually found a way to fix himself."

You abandon your partially-made sandwich and rush out of the room, hot on Sam's heels.

"You guys think it'll really work?" You ask as you enter the war room.

"I believe it will," Castiel answers, staring at Dean in barely contained surprise. "It appears that young Dean has found what we have failed to."

"Why does everyone seem so damned shocked by that?" Dean asks with a shit-eating grin.

"Um, maybe because you _hate_ research," Sam replies. "You once spent three hours trying to convince me that you're allergic to it."

"Let's just say I'm...properly motivated," Dean assures and gives you a wink.

You smirk over at him in reply. Leave it to Dean to overcome his hatred of research when there's nookie at the finish line.

"Am I right in assuming that he is referring to sexual intercourse?" You hear Castiel ask Sam quietly.

"Any time his lips are moving," Sam assures.

"How the hell did you manage to find this, anyway?" Kevin asks, eyeing Dean incredulously. "You haven't sat still to read with us for more than 2 minutes since you started playing age-roulette."

You nod at the truth of that, but then it clicks. You laugh to yourself when you realize where he's been sneaking off to.

"Let me guess..." you say with a knowing smile. "Impala? Metallica blasting? Artery-slamming snacks?"

"Hey, don't knock it," Dean insists. "It's the only tolerable way to research."

"Should've known," you say before pointing to the opened book at the edge of the table. "All right, somebody show me what he came up with."

The guys take turns explaining the spell and its origins. It's going to be cast on the stone, instead of Dean, but you're still nervous. After you nearly died during the last effort to change him back, you've been both eager for and greatly dreading the next attempt.

You reach out and take his hand as you listen. He grips yours back reassuringly, but doesn't draw attention to the contact.

They're basically going to try and force the stone to reclaim the unnatural youth it's granted. It's a different approach, so they're not sure how it's going to work, exactly. Could be an instant fix, could take a few times to target the right age. There are very few ingredients needed. They can be ready in an hour.

Your stomach is in knots as you consider the risks.

A storm of what-if's rages in your mind. What if it goes wrong? What if it goes too far and he loses years? What if he dies? What if the last time you see one another, you are so hung up on the age difference that you don't even kiss him goodbye?

Seeing your growing anxiety, Dean chimes in. "How about we wait till the morning?"

Sam's eyes lock with Dean's instantly, seeking an explanation for the sudden 180. The brothers exchange looks, having an entire conversation consisting only of eye contact and subtle changes in expressions. Apparently, differences in age have no effect on their private language.

"Oh. Yeah. I mean, no, you're right..." Sam fumbles in reply as a look of realization passes over his features. "We should go over it again. Make sure we're not missing anything..." Judging by his agreement and the way his eyes briefly flit to you, Dean must have conveyed things clearly in silent-Winchester-speak.

"Smooth, Sammy," Dean snorts as he heads toward the door, tugging you along by the hand.

You spend that night hanging onto Dean as tightly as he usually does to you. And if you cry quietly against his chest for an hour or so over your fear of losing him, he doesn't call you out on it.

In the morning, when it's time to get up out of bed and face whatever the day will bring, you find yourself tracing his jawline with your fingertips and gazing deeply into his sleepy, green eyes. You're searching for that _something_ in his gaze that you'd caught a glimpse of before. The spark that is irrefutably, undeniably the man you love more than the air you breathe. You just want him - _your_ him - to know how much you love him and how terrified you are that you could lose him.

He holds your gaze patiently, allowing you to continue your search without question.

After a few moments, he reaches up and touches your face tenderly, brushing his thumb along your cheek. The action reminds you of him at 4 years old, not knowing how to make things better for you, but still wanting to offer you some small measure of comfort. It also brings back the memory of his hands on your face after the torture you survived - the adoration that had been in his tearful eyes. The sound of him telling you he loved you.

You lean into his touch now.

He gives you a warm, reassuring smile and says in a sleep-roughened voice, "It's gonna be okay, baby. Whatever it takes, I'm gonna come back to you."

And there he is again. Just the man you wanted to see.

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his and kissing him sweetly. He gives a surprised and intrigued, '_mmm_' before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. Your hands move of their own accord, gripping the back of his head and running your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails lightly across his scalp. He moans and draws your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking lightly. You reflexively deepen the kiss in response.

You pour all of your fear into the contact. You tell him without words how much you love him and need for him to be safe, how much you miss being with him.

The kiss gets away from you both, turning frantic and desperate until you're finally pulling apart to gasp for air.

He stares up at you in wide-eyed astonishment. His thoroughly-kissed lips hang open breathlessly - now red and even fuller than usual.

You wince and give him a guilty smile as you sit up and straighten your clothes.

"God _**damn**_," he breathes.

"Sorry," you offer sheepishly.

"Talk about incentive to get through this spell," he chuckles.

"Was really just planning on it being a peck," you insist. "My bad."

"No, no... It's cool..." he lies in a shaky voice. "Gonna need a few minutes before I get up, but it's cool."

You laugh and kiss his cheek sympathetically. "I just wanted to..." you try, but trail off.

"I know," he answers and reaches out for your hand, interlacing your fingers. "I love you, too, baby."

At those words, your stomach clenches. You recall the other times he's said that to you. The memories are too much and you have to close your suddenly-tearful eyes.

"Hey... _Hey_, come on. Don't do that," he urges softly. He sits up and pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. "We're almost there, right? Just gotta get through this. It's gonna be fine."

You nod against his chest, trying to believe strongly enough in his assurances to quell your fears.

"I got something for you," he says a minute later, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he adds, "But I'm not gonna give it to you unless you stop snotting all over my shirt."

"Shut up!" You laugh and punch his shoulder lightly as you sit up. "I am _not_ snotting on your shirt."

He arches an incredulous brow and gives a pointed look down at the wet spots on his t-shirt.

"Those are tears!" You insist with a smile. "You're snot-free, I swear."

He grabs your chin, tipping your head back to inspect your nose.

"_Hmm_... Doesn't appear to have sprung a leak," he teases. "All right, I believe you." He kisses the tip of your nose before hopping out of bed.

You watch as he goes to the dresser - to the drawers he's discovered to be his own and has since been using. He shifts some clothes around in the bottom drawer before pulling free a bag that had been concealed beneath them.

"Sneaky, sneaky," you chide. "It better not be lingerie."

Dean laughs as he sits on the edge of the bed beside you. He sits the bag on the floor temporarily.

"Nope, but now that you mention it, thanks to the wonders of the internet, I picked out what you're gonna strip for me in when I get back to normal."

"Did you, now?" You laugh. "And what might that be?"

He grins and pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. He waits patiently for you to take it and focus on the handwritten note.

"Spicy Lingerie web site," you read aloud. "The '_I'll Make You Feel Better_' 3 Piece Nurse Costume...matching thong, pettiskirt, thigh-highs... " You stop and look over at him with a smirk. "This is a tad bit specific, don't you think? Won't any old naughty-nurse costume do?"

"Nope. _That's_ the one I want your fine little ass to wear," he insists. "And you gotta get white stripper boots and a vibrating stethoscope, too. You owe me big, remember? We had a deal."

"_Vibrating steth-_?!" You start to repeat in amused disbelief, but stop, instead shaking your head and holding up a hand in defeat. "All right," you agree. "Fine, a deal's a deal."

"Hell yeah!" He exclaims victoriously. "Oh, and you can't tell me about it beforehand. Make it a surprise. And when I see it, tell me it's a present from...you know, _me_."

"Anything else?" You laugh.

"Unfold the paper," he urges with an ill-behaved grin and eagerly scoots closer.

You sigh and shake your head, opening the paper and laughing your ass off when you find the entire backside of the page covered in scribbled instructions.

"I take it back," you say as you scan the words. "The costume wasn't specific. THIS is specific."

"But you're gonna do it all, right?" He asks hopefully, reaching around your shoulder to point down at the page. "Especially that... Ooh, and _that_..."

"Yes, Dean. I'm gonna do it," you sigh.

"YES! You're the best," he gushes before planting a rough kiss on your cheek. He leans down and picks up the bag off of the floor. "And as a little forget-me-not-at-this-age, here you go."

You take the bag and frown curiously at how obviously large, flat, and rigid the contents are. When you slide it free, you have to suppress the urge to let out a long, '_Aawww!_'

The photo frame is designed to hold numerous pictures. He's filled every slot. You know without asking that he enlisted Kevin's help for this project. Probably Sam's, too. There are pictures of the two of you together when he was at his proper age (including the post-quickie shot from your cell phone), but that's not all.

One image shows you seated beside him at the table when he was 12 years old - both of you are laughing. Another shows him at 4 years old, curled up in your arms and peeking out at the camera from beneath your chin while you kiss the top of his head. There's a photo of you with teen-dream-Dean standing behind you, his arms wrapped around you and his chin resting on your shoulder. He's grinning at the camera as you roll your eyes and smile.

At the center of the frame, there's an incredible, breathtaking, black-and-white photo of you and _your_ Dean. It looks like a professional portrait. You're gazing into one another's eyes hungrily, faces and lips mere inches apart, leaning in for a kiss. (He's cropped the image in close enough to hide the fact that it's a selfie taken mid-sex.)

And over that center-piece image, in graceful, sweeping black letters, is the phrase, '_Love Throughout the Age_s'.

"Dean..." you breathe, but trail off, overwhelmed as you press a hand to your chest.

"That's the good kind of speechless, right?" He presses with an eager grin.

You look over at him adoringly.

"Oh, yeah, I did good," he declares knowingly.

"Yes. You did _very_ good," you agree and rest your head on his shoulder.

You sit together like that for a few moments in silence, just staring down at the photos.

"Ready to do this?" He finally asks quietly.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you answer.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day! :) Be sure to let me know what you think! Did anything make you LOL or go Aawwww? Love it? Hate it? Want more?


	9. Something Naked or Naked Something

You're sitting on top of the war room table, trying to stay calm as you watch Sam and Kevin carefully remove the containment spells from the stone.

For the first time since it changed Dean into a 4 year old, it's going to be free to do its thing. Dean is standing beside you, holding your hand and occasionally leaning close to kiss your brow or offer quiet words of reassurance.

There's a clock counting down in your mind. Any minute now, you're going to have to let go and just hope for the best. You've been growing steadily more anxious about this whole thing. You're pretty sure you're close to breaking Dean's hand, you're holding onto it so tightly.

_You_ almost dying in the first attempt to fix him was bad enough. Now you're putting _Dean_ at risk, too? For what? Is it really so bad for him to be a teenager if it means he's _alive_? Isn't is a bit shallow of you to be going along with this - risking his life - just to get him to the age you're used to?

Time stops for you when Sam stands and turns, giving the solemn nod that they're ready.

"Okay..." you hear Dean sigh.

You close your eyes tightly, as if you can somehow block this out.

He leans down, saying softly into your ear, "It's gonna be fine. You'll see. Ain't no way in hell I'm missing out on that nurse costume - **believe** that."

You laugh, even as a stray tear rolls down your face.

"_Love you_," he whispers, kissing your cheek before backing away slightly.

"_Love you, too_," you answer with a sniffle.

He waits for you to open your eyes and smiles down at you as he adds, "By the way, even if I only turn 19 this time, if I'm legal, you had _so_ better put out for me."

You give him a challenging smile and smack his shoulder playfully.

He chuckles as he takes a few steps backward, giving you a wink before turning away. He walks over to Sam, putting his hand on his younger - but currently older - brother's shoulder.

"This thing goes south and something happens to me, you take care of her, you hear me?" He says, keeping his voice low enough that you can't make out his words.

"That agreement's been in place since you two got together," Sam assures just as quietly with a warm smile. "But you're gonna be fine. You're way too stubborn not to get through this."

"You know it!" Dean says loudly as he claps his brother on the back. "Hey, Kev?"

Kevin looks over at him, pointing to himself in surprise, as if Dean could be referring to someone else.

"Thanks for the pictures. If this thing takes another few tries, you make sure you keep that camera handy, got it? I'm sure she can make some room in that frame."

"No problem," Kevin assures. "Now, go grow up already."

Dean chuckles and nods. "Cas?"

When he looks over at Castiel, you can tell by the shift of the angel's shoulders and tilt of his head that Dean's taking advantage of Cas' prayer-hotline.

_I might not remember what links us together or what all we've been through, but I've seen enough to know we're family. If I don't come through on the other side of this, I need you to watch out for them. Keep'em safe for me? _

While you can't hear what Dean says, you see Castiel bow his head in agreement and Dean smile appreciatively.

Dean takes his position, seated on the floor in front of the stone.

You watch Sam carefully draw symbols on the floor around them, listen to Castiel reciting the spell in... Proto-Aramaic, maybe?

You chew your nails to the quick when the stone starts to glow.

You don't realize how fervently you're praying for Dean to get through this safely until Castiel pauses in his recitation and glances over at you. He nods to you reassuringly before going on.

Dean has just turned to you and mouthed, '_It's okay_,' when the stone lets loose a blast of blinding light.

**-SPN-**

"Christ... What the hell did I _drink_?" You hear Dean groan as you fight to clear your vision, and the gruffness of his voice is somewhat promising.

"Dean?" Sam calls, and you can tell by how disoriented he sounds that he can't see yet, either.

"Sammy?" Dean answers in confusion before whining, "D'you get the license plate off the truck that ran me over?"

"Not a truck, dude. A spell," Sam chuckles. "Hey, listen... This might sound crazy, but um... how old are you?"

There's a long pause.

"Aw, hell. I'm not gonna like this, am I?" Dean huffs bitterly.

"Probably not," Sam replies.

You hold your breath, waiting for a number.

"28," Dean sighs. "Why?"

You sag in disappointment. So much for a one-and-done fix.

"Weelllll..." Sam starts reluctantly.

Dean's gasp tells you the exact moment when he's able to see.

"Holy shit!" Dean laughs in astonishment. "What... Or _who_ the hell did I feed to you, Gigantor?"

Your vision finally starts to clear and you watch Dean sit up and take in his surroundings. He's freaking _gorgeous,_ you note with a mental whimper. Not quite your Dean yet, but holy hell... Age and additional years of training have granted the deadly sexy masculinity that he lacked just moments prior.

He frowns as he takes stock. "All right, so I've got a Sammy on steroids... The President of the high school debate team... An accountant in need of a shave... And a - well, hello, gorgeous," he greets with a grin when your eyes meet.

"Seriously?" Sam groans in disbelief. "You're not even on your feet yet this time."

"What? I'm just saying hi!" Dean insists in feigned innocence as Sam helps him up.

"I am an angel of The Lord," Castiel chimes in petulantly.

Dean frowns and turns toward him. "Say what now?"

"I am not an accountant," Cas declares, sticking out his chin. "I am an angel of The Lord."

"Of...course...you are, buddy," Dean says cautiously, as if talking to a crazy person, while plastering on a forced smile. "Sam?" He says without taking his eyes off of Castiel. "Make with the explanations, would you?"

"You touched that stone over there and it's got your age bouncing all over the place. You're supposed to be 34," Sam says in a rush, clearly tired of explaining this.

"Huh," Dean says, frowning thoughtfully. After a moment he adds with a shrug, "Okay. Well, that sucks. And...just for the record...halo-boy over here is...?"

"Really an angel," Sam assures.

Dean arches a brow and eyes Castiel appraisingly. "Wow... Great PR department upstairs. They really oversold you guys. He looks back to Sam, considering him for a moment before asking, "Sooo...my deal... I take it we, uh, pulled a rabbit outta our hat on that one?"

Sam's eyes widen and he looks to Castiel as he answers quickly, "Long story. Let's just leave it at that."

Dean frowns and eyes his brother suspiciously, but decides Sam must have a reason for not wanting to get into it.

"Fair enough," he relents.

"I'm seeing a pattern here," Kevin notes. "The older he gets, the more readily he accepts everything."

"The older he gets, the more weird shit he's seen," you offer. "This is just another day at the office."

Dean opens his mouth to agree with you, but stops abruptly. He tilts his head, his brows drawing together and eyes narrowing as he studies you curiously.

You freeze under the scrutiny of his gaze. It feels as if there's a flashing neon sign over your head that reads, 'YES. WE'RE SCREWING.'

You could explain it to him... Answer his questions... Try to resist his unavoidable attempts to get you into bed... Fall in love with him at a different stage in his life... But you feel exhausted at the prospect of starting this process all over again. You've been down this path before - except now you know that it's likely to be an emotional roller-coaster followed by him promptly forgetting you.

Hmm... Not if you can help it...

You avert your eyes and, as an afterthought, grab a rubber band off the table to pull up your hair. Maybe you can avoid having your heart twisted up with longing and love by this latest incarnation. It shouldn't be too long before your Dean is back...right? You just need to keep your mouth shut and your tresses (along with the rest of you) out of reach until then.

"We're not sure how long it'll be before you're at the right age," Sam informs Dean.

Not for the first time, you scowl and wonder whether Sam's still got a touch of that psychic mojo you've heard mentioned.

"Nothing I can do to hurry things along?" Dean asks.

"Nope," Sam replies.

"Sorta a waiting game now?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"All right. Guess that means I've got some time to kill. Where's my baby?" Dean asks expectantly.

Jarred from your thoughts, you look up in surprise at the familiar b-word. You simultaneously smirk and deflate when you realize that he's referring to the only other woman in his life.

"Your 'baby'?" Sam asks, frowning in feigned confusion. "What... you mean the _Impala_?" His eyes widen. "Oh. Wow. Long gone, dude. We scrapped that thing years ago."

A strangled sound escapes Dean's throat.

"Sorry, bro," Sam goes on, looking genuinely apologetic. "It got totaled on a hunt. Last I heard, they were gonna strip it for parts. What's left of it's in a junkyard in Tennessee."

Dean gasps. All the color drains from his face as he grips the table for support.

"You. Bite. Your. _Tongue_! I'd never allow it!" He grinds out.

Sam manages to maintain a straight, sympathetic face. The longer he keeps it up, the further Dean's bottom lip protrudes.

"Dude... Seriously?" Dean whimpers in desperation after a moment.

Unable to resist the power of that pouty bottom-lip, you sigh heavily, making your disapproval of the prank known.

Sam bursts into victorious laughter. "The look on your face, bro. Priceless!" He gloats.

"That's just cruel," you chide as he laughs at his brother's expense. Shaking your head, you turn your attention to Dean. "She's down in the garage, Dean, safe and sound," you assure.

"Oh, thank God," Dean sighs, clutching his chest in immense relief.

And now that you've _stupidly_ drawn attention to yourself again, he gives you a sizzling hot smile.

"You mind leading the way there, beautiful?" He asks and bites his bottom lip as his eyes slide unhurriedly over your body.

You roll your eyes and wonder what your chances are against Dean at this age.

Sam gives you a pointed look, as if you need a tip-off that Dean's just trying to get you alone to hit on you.

Reluctantly, you slide off the table and onto your feet.

"This way," you sigh and trudge out of the room with Dean following along closely behind, undoubtedly making faces behind your back to Sam and miming how badly he wants to grab your ass.

You hear Sam give a disgusted growl and know that the gestures must have earned a bitch face.

Before you get a chance to leave the room, Kevin rushes up in front of both of you, armed with his camera phone.

"Say cheese!" He urges, and catches a picture of your incredulous look - along with the way Dean's eyes are currently locked on your ass.

**-SPN-**

You enter the garage and watch as Dean's eyes light up like a kid in a candy store. He drools over the other vehicles for a moment before focusing on the object of his undying affection.

"Baby! Oh, is it good to see you!" He croons as he makes his way over to her.

You laugh as he wraps his arms around the driver's side door and roof to give her a hug.

"I knew I'd never let you get scrapped," he reassures her.

"Well, I'll leave you two to get reacquainted. You can find your way back, right?" You call over your shoulder as you turn to leave.

"Whoa, there!" He calls as he races after you. "Where you off to in such a rush?"

You arch a brow as he catches your wrist, halting your escape attempt.

"Is there some reason I should be staying?"

"Yeah. I mean, we are _alone_," he points out with an ill-behaved little half-smile. "Don't you want to tell me now?"

"Tell you what?" You ask in feigned innocence.

"About whatever that is swirling in those pretty eyes every time you look at me," he says in a low voice and traces his fingertips down the side of your face.

"It's nothing," you insist unconvincingly.

"Nothing, huh?" He asks incredulously when you try to suppress a shiver in response to his touch. "Sure as hell don't look like 'nothing'."

"Just leave it, Dean," you sigh before cutting around him and walking away.

He stays rooted in place, staring up at the ceiling as you retreat behind him.

You're halfway to the door before he finally calls out purposefully, "Nothing Else Matters."

You nearly trip as you abruptly halt your exit.

After a few stunned seconds, you slowly turn back toward him.

"What?" You ask cautiously.

He throws a knowing smile over his shoulder.

"So, it _does_ mean something..." he declares with a nod.

You hold your breath, trying to hide your astonishment as he turns to face you.

"Whenever I look at you, I hear '_Nothing Else Matter_s' playing in my head. But it ain't Metallica - it's some chick version. Something '_Naked_'... Or '_Naked_' something..." he mutters, snapping his fingers as if trying to will the thought to form in his mind.

"_Bif Naked_," you offer without hesitation and watch him with wide eyes.

"Right!" He says, pointing at you with a grin. "_Bif Naked, Nothing Else Matters_. So... Care to explain why you come with a soundtrack? One which, I might add, is cutting the balls off an awesome tune?"

You shake your head. "No idea," you whisper weakly.

"Aw, _come on_," he coaxes as he slowly closes the distance between you. "That's clearly bullshit. Why don't you want to tell me?" He asks, studying your eyes intensely.

You swallow hard and sag in defeat.

"Because you're just gonna forget me again," you mutter. "What's the point?"

"Aw, see, but that's just it, sugar..." He says softly as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. "I don't think I did. At least, not completely."

You frown at that and gaze up into his eyes, afraid to get your hopes up as he steps closer still.

"What do you mean? Do you have any memories past 28?" You ask hesitantly.

"No - and that's what makes it confusing. Last thing I remember, Sammy and I just had another run in with the Trickster and I was a few months away from punching my one-way ticket to Hell. I have no clue what happened after that. But... somehow? I know things about you that I can't explain.

"I can't tell you how we met...or anything else about us, really. Hell, to be honest, I don't even know your name," he admits as his eyes carefully take in every detail of your face. With a smirk, he reaches out and tugs on your ponytail. "But I know damned well that your hair is supposed to be down for me."

He smiles at the way your eyes widen in shock. He works the rubber band out of your hair as he continues.

"I know what you sound like when you whisper 'good night' and I know that you snore." He chuckles at the indignant look you give in response. "Don't worry. It's only loud enough for it to be adorable," he assures. "I know your nose crinkles when I make you laugh and that your sides are ticklish. I know how _unbelievably_ sexy you are in white cotton bras and panties, and I know that your knees get weak when I kiss you like this..."

He leans in slowly, keeping his eyes locked with yours and cradling your face in his hands. You whimper a little as your heart starts to race. He presses those full lips to yours softly at first, leaving you desperate for more. When you sigh and part your lips, he groans in approval and takes the invitation to deepen the kiss.

Just as he predicted, you lean against him for support as your knees turned to Jello.

It's almost perfect now. His hands are large and rough, his touches sure against your skin. His shoulders are wide and strong enough to carry the weight of the world. His chest is hard muscle beneath your roving hands, the increase in mass giving his presence a solidity it had recently sorely lacked. The haunted look in his gaze is still easily hidden at this age, he's not quite right yet, but with your eyes closed, you can pretend he's back to the man you love.

Besides, _hey_, he's remembering things about you. That excuses at least one sweaty romp, right?

Right?

After a long moment (yet entirely too soon), he pulls away slowly. His eyes are still closed when you gaze up at him. He's swaying slightly, looking positively intoxicated by your kiss.

"Dean? You with me, babe?" You ask softly while stroking the back of his neck.

Without opening his eyes, he leans into your touch and whispers your name reverently in reply.

Your heart swells at the sound.

"You remembered," you say in amazement.

All right - him remembering your name after one kiss has to be worth a week of guilt-free nookie. It just has to be.

You watch in wonder as his heavy lids slide open to reveal adoration in his stormy green eyes.

"I remember more..." He breathes, and you realize this latest spell is working erratically - restoring his memories in random order and faster than his age. Thank God for HUGE favors. He's recalling your time together before the memories of Hell can resurface and potentially debilitate him.

"Tell me what you remember," you whisper back.

He lifts you up in response, guiding you to wrap your legs around his hips. He smiles, sharing his memories between searing kisses.

"You and me... Sunset after a hunt... Parked on a cliff looking out at the ocean... That girly-ass song playing 'cause I caved and let you pick the music..."

You laugh against his lips and drape your arms around his shoulders. "Oh, as I recall, I more than made it up to you."

He grins and nods. "Damned straight, you did. Probably why I can't get it outta my head. I think the rest went something like this..." He says, walking toward the Impala with the clear intent of sitting you on the hood.

You immediately struggle to get down.

"Wait! Wait!" You squeak as you wriggle out of his grasp.

"What? Why? Shit, I'm sorry. I mean, I thought...you know...that we..." he tries, his features twisted in a mixture of confusion and remorse as he worries that he's misread the situation somehow.

"Huh?" You ask, just as confused. "Oh! No," you laugh when you catch on. "You thought right. We did. We do. We ARE. But..."

His mouth drops open and eyebrow arches skyward as you unzip your jeans and slide them slowly down your hips.

"There are these metal buttons on my back pockets," you explain. "They'll scratch the paint."

"Holy. Shit." He breathes in awe, watching the denim drag down your legs until you're free of the material. "That is the sexiest thing a woman has **ever** said to me."

You laugh as he eagerly pulls your body flush with his, loving the pure sex in his gaze as he slides your shirt up and off. He doesn't wait for you to pull off his t-shirts. He's in too much of a hurry for skin on skin and you have to agree with him there.

When you're finally pressed against his bare chest and stomach, with his bare arms wrapped around you, with only your bra separating the two of you, you can't help but grin.

"Now, where were we?" You ask.

"I think we were right about...here," he says as he lifts you up and sets you on the hood of the Impala.

"And that means you should be right here," you remind, pulling him closer until his hips are settled between your thighs.

"Damn, baby," he purrs in his roughest, sexiest tone, biting his bottom lip and tracing his fingertips down your throat. "Want you so bad...feel like I ain't had it in forever. Got me horny as a damned teenager for you."

You laugh low at that, nipping his jaw and running your hand over the front of his jeans before whispering in his ear, "Hmm...and just as hard for me as you were at 17, too."

Dean busts out laughing. "Wait, you mean you let me have this fine ass when I was only 17? Corrupting the morals of a minor, huh?" He bites his bottom lip while shaking his head and fighting a smile. "Why you dirty, kinky, cradle-robbing, little..."

"I didn't let you have anything," you cut in with a smirk. "Didn't stop you from trying to change my mind, though."

Thoroughly amused, he licks his lips and unhooks your bra. "Ah, I wouldn't have known what to do with you at that age, any way."

"You were convinced otherwise, I assure you."

"Oh, I just bet I was," he chuckles and slides the straps of your bra down your arms. His lips pucker and he lets out a low "ooh" of approval as your breasts are revealed to him.

"And how about now? You know what to do with me at this age?" You taunt breathily.

Dean groans and presses his body flush with yours. "Baby, I am _very much_ looking forward to answering that question."

He crushes his mouth against yours, kissing you more roughly than he ever has before. It's all teeth and tongue and desperation and urgency. You moan in surprise as you eagerly match his frenzied desire. His hands seem to be everywhere at once, gripping your shoulders and pinching your nipples and kneading your breasts. You hang on for the ride, running your hands greedily over his warm, hard body.

He pulls away enough to stare down into your eyes intensely. Never breaking eye contact, and with deliberate movements, he reaches down and tears your panties apart, one side at a time, before tugging them off between your legs. Something about the controlled strength of the action - the way the muscles of his chest and arms tense and jerk - paired with the sound of shredding material drives you crazy.

"Jesus **Christ**," you groan through clenched teeth in response.

Dean chuckles triumphantly before reclaiming your lips with his own. You put an end to that chuckling with one hand, sliding it down his bottom abs and into his jeans, getting a firm grip on his cock and giving him a long stroke.

"_Ungh_... baby," he moans and leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours as his eyes roll closed.

You watch the way his features twist in pleasure as you move your hand up and down his length, the way his breath hitches and he hisses when you quicken the pace.

With considerable effort, he manages to get his brain to function again. He snatches your wrist, giving you a playfully disapproving scowl as he extracts your hand from his pants.

You give him your most innocent smile and watch him bring your fingers to his lips and nip them.

"You keep that up, you're gonna put a stop to things before the real fun's even started," he warns.

You reach down and unbuckle his belt, leaning forward and kissing your way along his jaw to his ear.

"Then let's get to the real fun already, shall we?" You whisper and savor the hiss he gives when you suck on his earlobe.

You make short work of the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, start to slide them down over the curve of his fantastic ass, but he shakes his hips and legs impatiently, causing the material to quickly slide to the floor. You laugh as he kicks aside the heap of boxers and denim, but he swallows that laughter with a heated kiss.

"You ready for me, baby?" He growls against your mouth before letting his fingers slip between your thighs. You moan and let your head fall back as he strokes you. "Ooh, yeah, you're soaked for me. You missed me baby?"

"_God_, yes," you answer emphatically.

"You want me inside you?""

"Just as much as you want to be inside of me," you counter with a sly smile.

"Don't you know it," he answers with a smirk.

He reaches down between the two of you and lets just the tip of his cock slide inside. You moan and wriggle, trying to hurry him along. He waits though, until he's got his hands on your ass, each hand gripping a cheek.

You call out his name when, in one motion, he thrusts forward and pulls your body hard against him.

Both of you pause with eyes closed to take in the sensation. He nuzzles his face against yours, kissing your cheek and brow.

"Know what this feels like for me, baby?" He purrs in your ear.

You let out a 'hmm?' in reply.

"Feels like coming home."

"Mmm...welcome home," you sigh contentedly.

You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you, but it is quickly forgotten when he starts to move. Again, it's rougher than usual - fast and almost violent in its desperation. His fingertips sink into your skin, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. He gets a handful of your hair and pulls back on it hard enough to wrench your neck.

He nips at your throat and groans **loudly** in approval when you follow his lead and bite his shoulder back just as hard. His skin is instantly covered in goosebumps in response, his nipples hardening in overwhelming arousal.

In the back of your mind, you vaguely wonder about this glaring difference in his preferences. Sure, he's liked it hard and fast, but never to this level. He's always shied away from pushing things this far before. It occurs to you that the only difference between the man currently between your thighs and the man you're used to is a 40 year stint in Hell. The things he'd done and endured there had apparently curbed his appetite for pleasure mixed with pain.

You wonder if it's because he's usually afraid of hurting you... If he really wants it this way, but holds back. Hmm... You'll have to test that theory when he's back to normal.

You shove the thoughts aside and focus on the here and now. Because, here and now, the act of raking your nails down his thickly-muscled back is enough to draw a sound from Dean that you've never heard before - a long, keening cry that echoes off the walls of the garage and makes your knees quake.

"You like that, baby?" You breathe in his ear with a throaty laugh before dipping your tongue inside, tracing the curves of cartilage.

He whimpers and presses closer to your mouth, urging you on.

That answers your question.

His movements become steadily more erratic as you launch a full assault with nails and teeth. You lean down and capture his nipple with your mouth, sucking and nipping until he's thrusting frantically and screaming your name.

He's close. But, aside from your name, he's too far gone to even _speak_. This is definitely new.

You take up his normal dialogue, intrigued by the role reversal, "That's it baby. You gonna come for me? Come on, you can let it go. Feel so damned hot inside me. So thick and hard. Damn, baby. You're gonna get me off so good. _Harder_, Dean. _Faster_. That's right. Come for me."

He follows your urging, slamming into you hard enough to seriously test the Impala's shocks.

With one final shout, he slips over the edge. His sweat-slick body trembles and stiffens, he presses his mouth to your temple and gasps in ecstasy.

You moan and grind down against him, chasing your own release. It doesn't take long - the feeling of him coming always drives you wild. He crushes his mouth to yours as you finish, swallowing your cries and moaning in appreciation of them.

And before either of you has even finished trembling or groaning, it happens.

White light erupts from him, leaving you thankful that your eyes had already been closed.

You feel the change in him instantly. He's even more solid, his body somehow more steady than it had been just seconds ago.

He breaks your kiss and you blink rapidly, desperate to clear the lingering white-spots from your vision.

"Baby?" He asks in uncertainty.

"It's me, Dean," you answer with a smile of relief. Even if you can't see him clearly yet, his voice is just right. Gravelly and weary.

He's back.

"What the hell just happened?" He asks, still sounding disoriented. "I mean...I can guess at least _part_ of it..." He jokes as he reaches down and squeezes your bare ass.

You smile up at him as you can finally focus on his wonderfully familiar features.

"I'll tell you in a minute. Right now? Shut the hell up and kiss me," you order.

Dean arches a brow and smirks. "Yes, ma'am," he chuckles.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, kissing him eagerly, even as joyful laughter bubbles from your lips.

You're not paying attention to time, but it's probably less than two minutes later when you hear it. The door to the garage bursts open. Two sets of boots head toward you in a rush.

One set of boots abruptly halts their approach, squeaking on the tile floor.

"UGH! **Damn it**, Dean!" Sam cries in disgust, his voice muffled as he undoubtedly covers his face.

Dean grudgingly takes his lips from yours and looks over his shoulder at his brother.

"Sammy," he greets with a smug smile. "What'd I do?" He asks innocently, effortlessly using his entirely-nude body to block yours from view.

"It's more like what you're still **_doing_**. Would you mind putting some clothes on?" Sam asks in exasperation.

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, I would mind," Dean answers dryly.

"How'd you even have time to get naked, any way? Let alone be doing..._that_ already?! You just changed back like three of minutes ago!" Sam gripes while making his way over to the tangle of Dean's jeans and boxers.

"Changed...back?" Dean repeats curiously, turning his attention back to you. He ignores the heap of clothing Sam tosses onto the floor at his feet.

"You were affected by a powerful relic. It has altered your age numerous times in the past week," Castiel chimes in.

"Oh, really?" Dean says, giving you a suspicious smirk. "And exactly how old was I a few minutes ago?"

You smile up at him sheepishly.

"28," Sam answers before he catches on. You can hear the amusement in his voice a beat later when he adds, "And apparently _very_ persuasive."

"Clearly," he agrees, shifting his hips to remind you precisely how caught-in-the-act you are.

You shrug innocently. "You remembered my name. And 'Nothing Else Matters'."

Dean chuckles and nods. "So this was - what? A celebratory reenactment?" His eye wander to your lips. The corner of his mouth curving upwards in mischievous half-smile as he adds roughly, "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"Ooookay. On that note, we'll be leaving," Sam announces. "Glad you're back to normal, Dean. Come on, Cas," he urges, catching the angel by the elbow and dragging him towards the door.

You and Dean laugh as they go. The door is barely closed behind them before Dean's urging you to lay back on the hood...

* * *

The end. :) Soooo what d'you think? Should I write more for Supernatural? Sorry for the delay in wrapping this one up. Real life doesn't agree with me that I should be allowed to spend all my time writing fan-fiction (damn it!)


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